Saga of the Elements
by sweet-and-simple
Summary: 'Color Me In', 'Title and Identity', 'And the Sky Cries', and any other one-shot that follows the same AU compressed into one chapter story set in time sequence instead of published date. Vongola familyXArcabaleno
1. Color Me In: Reborn

When he had been a child, he had been abandoned by his tutor in a storm. That tutor had also been his father.

He had been curled into himself as he had lied on the rain-soaked ground, listening to the thunder roar and watching the lightening strike. The rain had come down in torrents, endless waves of water that sought to drown the world and him with it.

He would have looked for shelter – would have been looking for a hollow either in the ground or in the trunk of a tree and wait out the storm such as he had trained with his father – but he was injured.

There was a long ragged scar ranging from his hip to his ankle, bleeding profusely and burning agonizingly as the rain dripped into it and the mud smeared its way along its length. He had tried to keep walking, but every movement had thrown him into a new world of pain.

Forcing his way through a wild rose bush had been the last straw – especially when the thorns had caught in his wound.

He stared forlornly up at the sky. The trickling of a nearby creek had been growing louder and louder until he could feel water lapping at his one arm and then feel it soaking into his back and swaying the short hairs at the back of his neck.

"_If you can not survive this, than I will not be bringing you home." _His father had told him before leaving him in the wilderness.

He shut his eyes and subjected himself to his demise. He _could_ move… but how far? Would it be worth it to bother traveling any further when there was nothing but water swallowing the ground? All there was were bushes and wimpy trees with not nearly enough width or foliage to be of assistance.

The water was rising, licking his ears and chilling his fingers.

This simple trial and he had failed… He had failed so miserably even he was ashamed with himself.

His eyes shot open as he heard the wet slopping sound of feet through the mud. He held himself tensely, hyperaware of the fact that his father had sent him out into the forest with nothing but his own wits and the clothes on his back – not even a pocketknife to assist him.

"_A good hitman knows how to use his resources; the best hitman knows how to make resources out of nothing." _Those were the wise words of his father.

He kept his eyes trained in the direction of the disturbance.

Slowly, a form could be distinguished from the storm.

"Goodness…" A smooth, dark chocolate voice sighed. "You can not be any older than five; what could you possibly be doing out during this weather?"

A man stood before him, most likely in his 20's, Reborn estimated. He had black sable hair, a light beige complexion, pale green eyes, and a freckle beneath his left eye, the other eye hidden by his bangs. He wore a fur-collared buckskin coat that fell a little past his waist, a white tee visible beneath it, black leather pants, and buckskin boots.

He looked away. "It's none of your concern."

"Hmph…" The man leaned down, elbows on knees as he crouched close. "For such a small child, you speak intelligently… and angrily." He tilted his head curiously. "Tell me, child, where are your parents?"

He stayed stubbornly quiet.

The man sighed. "Goodness… What a brat you are and we've only just met… Hm?" The man's gaze was on his injured leg. "That looks like it hurts."

He threw him a look that amounted to every insult ever uttered in his large obsidian gaze.

Instead of taking offense, the man smiled. "Hello, child; my name is Lambo." He reached out a hand covered in a fingerless black glove and with nails painted black.

He smacked his hand away without change of expression. "Leave me alone."

The man – Lambo – retracted his hand and frowned down at him. "What an unpleasant little one… I guess it can't be helped."

When Lambo stood up, he thought that was the last of the nuisance. After all, he had never before met a being who would waste their precious time to care for ano-

"What are you _doing_?" There was a rare lilt of horror in the child's voice, eyes widening as he was lifted off of the ground and into the man's arms.

"Forgive me… but it is not in me to leave such a bitter child to drown here, never to live life long enough to learn true happiness. You see, Yam- …" The man chuckled for some reason. "I mean _Rain_ was told by… _Sky_ to not stop the rain here until it becomes a swamp. If you stay here, you will drown."

He glared up at him. _Rain_? _Sky_? "What do you take me for? A fool?" The rain and the sky were not people – the sky could not hand out orders and the rain could not take orders. They were _elements_.

"No." Lambo answered honestly. "I take you for a child." He looked up to the sky, letting the rain fall down his handsome features. "… Ah, G-… _Storm_ must be giving _Rain_ the resolve to complete his mission. Once this area becomes a swamp, we hope to introduce some endangered species here, hidden far away from prying human eyes."

Human… He said the words as if he thought himself something _other_ than such.

He glowered at the man. "You're an idiot, just utterly stupid. Put me down, I would rather drown than suffer your company."

"Such a clever tongue and yet so _sharp_." Lambo tutted. "Do you have any friends, child?"

"I don't need friends." He answered on reflex. "I will have those that fear me and those I will kill – a hitman needs no friends."

"… Is that so?"

There was silence, something he was both glad for and upset with.

He was glad for it because he hated idle conversation – it wasted time. Yet he was upset with it because the man… _unnerved_ him. He wasn't sure why, but he just did.

A small hunting cabin came into view, shambled and clearly abandoned.

Nonetheless, Lambo carried him inside and set him down on the grimy, unkempt mattress shoved into one corner.

The small space smelled of mold, rotting timber, and of an outhouse. He cringed at the assault of scents, but forced himself to accept it.

"_A good hitman kills to get everything they've ever wanted; the best hitman has everything and kills to lose it." _After that important quote, his father had shoved him into different situations with varying hardships that each had nearly killed him – some of which he still shuddered to remember.

This was nothing.

Lambo returned to him with a starch white cloth wet from the rain. Where it had come from was a mystery. He began to wash out Reborn's wound.

He was startled into silence, even though he had planned to not say a word otherwise.

He didn't know how to take this man – this man who had carried him out of the rain into a (relatively) dry place and was now caring for his wound.

"_A good hitman has others to care for him; the best hitman needs no one but himself." _

This man – This _Lambo_ was being… being… _unfair_. Who gave _him_ the right to dismiss his father's every lesson for something as selfish as _kindness_?

He clenched one fist and then sent it sailing towards the man's face, lurching himself from a lying position to a sitting one with the momentum of the punch.

"How ungrateful…"

He stared in shock at the hand holding his clenched fist. Lambo, with his other hand, was wiping away the mud and blood from his wound.

"Why are you being so violent, child?" Lambo lifted his head and his lazy and yet somehow _penetrating_ emerald gaze paralyzed him. "What past have you to make you so guarded and your eyes so cold?"

He trembled; for the first time since his father had shoved him into a walk-in freezer and had left him there overnight with absolutely nothing on and nothing to light a fire with, he shook.

That gaze saw too much. He felt it raking through his being, discarding his appearance and seeking out his thoughts, heart, and soul… But that was ridiculous! There was no such thing as a soul…

The man's gaze made him believe otherwise.

"Lie still and I will be done soon." He was gently pushed back into the bed and then Lambo turned his attention back to his leg. "… Goodness… this is deep… Too deep… I will wash this off and then I will get stitches for it."

He wasn't sure why he thought he had to think aloud. After a moment, however, it clicked as the man looked meaningfully to him – Lambo could sense his distrust, his displeasure… He wasn't speaking to himself, he was speaking to him.

He turned his head away, feeling his heart quiver painfully in his chest. "Do what you will."

"Thank you."

The silence was heavier this time. Some minutes later, the cloth completely blood soaked, Lambo stood to his feet and went to the door. "I will be back in a moment – no longer than a clap of your hands." He smiled lightly, his eyes warm and soft as the child stared blankly at him.

"It doesn't matter to me." When the door shut behind Lambo, he allowed himself a snort. Obviously, the man was abandoning him but was doing it as painfully as he could. After all, what could hurt worse than having someone's gentleness and then have that gentleness be ripped away so obliviously?

"… A clap of my hands…" He looked down at said appendages. … Why… was he tempted to try out the man's words? That would be foolish and pointless; that would be something a _child_ would do and he was far from willing to prove the man right.

Yet his urge kept getting stronger and stronger until it was almost a physical need.

"It's stupid; if he was actually going to come back as quickly as a clap of my hands, he would have returned minutes ago." Because a clap only lasted a second or so, true? Possibly not even that much.

"_No longer than a clap of your hands." _The words played through his mind, as if trying desperately to point something out to him. _"No longer than a clap… Your hands…" "No longer than a clap of _your_ hands." _

He flinched. … It couldn't be that simple… could it?

Mostly against his will and otherwise for curiosity, he… clapped his hands; just once and weakly so.

He didn't have time to insult himself for doing something so trivial when the door opened almost at the same moment of his clapping, revealing Lambo with a first aide kit in hand.

The man smiled. "I thought you would never clap."

He was understandingly confused and a little miffed at feeling so. "Was there another cottage nearby?" He settled his gaze on the small metallic chest in the man's hand.

There was a pause and then Lambo smiled secretively. "Not really…"

He glared. "You're lying. There has to be someone nearby for you to be so quick."

Lambo chuckled. "That could be the truth… or the truth could be that I am as fast as… lightening." He pulled out peroxide and a cotton ball, unceremoniously dabbing the alcohol-wet fluff along Reborn's wound.

"RRH!" He managed to bite down on a yelp of surprise and a scream of pain at the same time, instead making a sound more like a ferocious growl.

He wanted to call the man an idiot, but instead looked away, letting him do what needed done. Maybe if this man's need to 'help' was assuaged, he would leave him be.

Next came the stitches and He kept his eyes shut as he felt the needle sink into flesh and the thread drag along his burning wound.

This was all something he could live with… it was nothing but a trifle misstep in his trial to becoming the greatest hitman ever known.

Despite knowing that, the pain didn't go away.

"I'm sorry." Lambo murmured. "I'm being as gentle as I can be…"

He glared at him. He was beginning to hate the man.

His gaze met emerald green after a moment. "You have yet to tell me your name."

He said nothing.

"Hm… If that is the case, I suppose I will give you a name…" Lambo pondered it for a moment and then smiled humorously. "Ah… I know just the name… I will call you _Reborn_."

He stared at Lambo as if he was a fool. "Reborn? Why Reborn?" Why at all? They would never see each other past this day.

"Because… I think you have the strength in you to change and become the person _you_ want to be – I believe you have the power to be reborn from your own ashes."

He scowled and looked away. "I am the person I want to be."

"I have never before met a child who wants no company, no affection, and who wants only to be left to die in a drowning forest."

He flinched. "… This is… what I want to be…" He said again, purposefully and whole-heartedly and yet with hesitation.

"… Ah… but is it _who_ you want to be?"

Startled, he looked back at Lambo with wide obsidian eyes.

The man smiled softly down at him. "You can be what you wish – but you can be a better person as well." He finished up with Reborn's leg and stood to his feet, stretching his arms over his head. "Goodness… I think it's time for me to move on. Yama- … _Rain_ has quieted."

The child blinked as he realized that that was true; all was relatively silent except for a soft, lazy _pitter patter, pitter patter_.

"I suppose since I brought you here against your will you can fight your own way out, am I right?"

"For the first time tonight." He sniped.

Lambo smiled softly down at him. "I hope we meet again someday… Reborn."

He would have shot back a retort, but the words were dragged from his mind and his throat closed tightly down on speech as the man opened the door and… flashed. There was a flash of white light and then green thunder danced before his eyes.

"_That could be the truth… or the truth could be that I am as fast as… lightening." _

There was a chuckle from nowhere – no, not from nowhere; it came from the sizzle and spark of the lightening undulating in the doorway. "Goodbye, Reborn."

And he was alone, left in darkness as the rain fell to silence and the storm became mute. Water flooded in from the open doorway and the roof above his head creaked ominously.

Nonetheless, he remained still for a while longer.

To become a hitman… suddenly didn't seem that impressive.

He smirked into the oblivion of his surroundings. He couldn't be _the_ best hitman… unless he became _the_ best in all the world… _and its elements_.

"Lambo…" He breathed into the shadows. "… Will you still come as quick as the clap of my hands?"

There was no answer; the storm had passed and taken with it the thunder and lightening.

"If so… I will be calling you again… soon. And we'll see _who_ I become and if who I become is stronger than _what_ you are."

Three days later, he made it to the designated area his father had told him to be at when complete with his trial. He stood there, a bloody and muddy mess with untroubled obsidian eyes and a poker face frown.

His father stared dully down at him and the child's expression bloomed into a grin. "Father…" He began in a non-negotiable tone. "I have a new name now and a purpose. Make me the strongest _being_ that has ever lived."

* * *

Author's Note: … I don't know why, but my head doesn't feel like it's on right… So I'm not really sure how well this went, all I pretty much know is that I _finally_ wrote and finished a story for the first time in freaking _forever_.


	2. And the Sky Cries: Luce

Luce was the kindest woman known.

She would give the shirt off her back to the children shivering in the rain, her apartment to the homeless, her food to the hungry, her time to the abandoned – she was simply the most amazing being alive.

Not only did she have a heart of gold, she was beautiful. She had deep aqua blue eyes that saw through one's soul into their fears and strengths. She was a tallish woman with a slender build, her skin pale and a flower-shaped birthmark beneath her one eye. Her hair was black with a blue sheen, cut evenly at the bangs and yet coming together in the back to form a long tail reaching down her spine.

Not only was she good and beautiful – she was desolate, poor, and left in a situation that would make any other person weep their little souls out.

Her boss, who had raped her nine months ago and had then fired her, had found out about the child she carried.

As if hell had risen to smite down an angel, her boss had sent his gooneys after her.

Of course she had run – she would fight forever and a day for the life of her child, whether she had wished to be pregnant with it or not.

And she had fought; after some time of running, they had caught up to her and she had had to fight with everything she had in her. She was deceptively strong and she managed to hold them for a little while.

Yet there were two factors that ultimately played the mini-war into their hands.

One, she was outnumbered.

Two, she was nine months pregnant.

They left her bleeding and dying where they had beaten her, in a dirty alleyway between two rundown apartment buildings where the occupants within regularly ignored the cries of the pained or needy.

She felt the contractions and the agony sliding up and down her spine, a sensation like her body was being split in two.

Her baby wanted to meet the world. She was in labor.

And she wasn't even sure if she had the strength to deliver the infant.

She could just barely stay awake as it was.

Yet she had strength – more strength than any could have imagined from such a naïve-looking woman. It took looking into her all encompassing gaze to see her power.

She stared up at the sky, trying to relax and let the spasms push the tiny body out of her. She was sad that her baby would be born in such a dirty place and that she might not actually have the chance to even say 'hello' to the little darling – but at least her baby would be born.

After the beating she had just taken, it was a miracle as far as she was concerned.

Not a cloud in sight and nor a storm to be seen, the sky was a calming abyss of blue. She focused on it, telling herself that her heart wasn't weakening in its pace, that her lungs weren't choking on blood.

She told herself that her baby was going to be born, and her baby was going to be healthy.

Something… _shifted_ in the sky above, almost as if the endless blue haven had nearly dropped – had come closer to her.

She heard feet scuffling down the alleyway towards her.

"Hello, Luce…" A kind, warm voice uttered with undeniable sorrow and yet infinite familiarity. "I'm sorry… that this is how your life turned out… You were always such a good person…" There was a hitch in that last part, as if the speaker was trying not to cry.

The person came into view, a slender man with a wild head of bronze locks and large, all-seeing caramel brown eyes. He wore a stainless white suit and held a fluffy blue blanket in his hands.

"If you'll let me…" He murmured. "I will do better by your child. I will make sure she has a good life that doesn't end in such a hellhole."

She tilted her head and smiled softly, wanly. "… She… You say 'she'… You know what my child shall be?"

She could see in his eyes something inhuman – something that had witnessed all of time and all of its tricks.

She was humbled that someone with such eyes would cry so openly for her.

The man smiled in turn. "No." He answered with pure honesty. "_You_ know what your child shall be."

And she saw it in her mind; for one, brief moment, she saw a woman with a mane of pale black hair and kind blue eyes.

"… Did you do that?" She whispered in awe.

He shakes his head. "I can do a lot of things…" He admitted sheepishly. "But I can't tell the future."

A contraction stole the breath from her lungs as well as the question on the tip of her tongue.

She wondered, then, if he was telepathic. He knew without asking what she had meant.

He kneeled next to her and helped her onto the blanket; as she watched, he muttered a name – _Yamamoto_ – and rain began to drip from the clear blue sky.

He murmured another name – _Chrome_ – and mist traveled into the alleyway before departing, leaving a bucket in its midst and fresh towels.

He said one last name – _Hibari_ – and a foreboding man with piercing gray eyes stood at the mouth of the alley with disarray black hair and a severe frown on his lips. Clouds boiled in the sky above and the rain fell a little heavier.

Not a drop touched her.

Her savior turned to the lonesome man and something like silent communication occurred. The man turned and disappeared.

The clouds galloped to the west. She vaguely remembered that that was the direction her attackers had fled in.

He stroked back her hair. "But I have a little brother who can." He conversed, as if there had been no interruption or weather change. "Or at least he could. When he was a child, he could go forward in time; now that he's older, the only thing he's interested in doing is going back. He doesn't have much faith left in the human race… Ah, but there was a child he found about five years ago that has made him seem curious about how the life of your kind is going."

He spoke easily as if referring to the human race as not his own species wasn't odd in the least.

Because she had seen that look in his eyes, she didn't find it odd either.

Conversation dwindled off as spasms took the last of her common sense and the pain the last of her resolve.

The man was murmuring nonsense to her, as if he understood she needed no words to push harder, but only the knowledge of another's company.

On the brink of death and on her last ebb of strength, she bore a child into the world.

She looked at her mucus-covered body, a creature more resembling an alien than an actual human so soon after birth. For a moment, she thought her baby was dead – that the beating she had taken had ended her life.

The man tickled the baby's chest, cooed incoherent words, and she saw something like fire race from his fingers into her baby's breast.

Perhaps any other who had seen such a thing would immediately assume 'demon'.

She saw the humility and relief in his gaze as her baby drew its first breath. "Would you like to hold her?" He whispered.

She looked at him and she saw neither 'demon' nor 'angel'. She looked into his eyes and she saw the ever expanding embrace of the sky.

"… Just once… If you could help me…" Her vision was graying.

The man helped her to sit up and wrapped her arms around her tiny baby.

She did not ask why he did not try to save her own life in the way he had saved her baby's.

The answer was in the way his hands shook, how his smile quivered, and in how his eyes watered.

He couldn't.

This was a sacrifice; her own life for the life of her child – a transaction that occurred without any words.

They both seemed to hold the same type of hyper intuition, she noted with a dying smile, her eyes glazing open.

She gazed at her baby one last time.

She would be strong and beautiful, she could tell. She would be a leader and a sister and a magnificent being.

She would _live_.

It went without saying that she loved her infant child with last of her beating heart.

And then she died, a storm approaching from the east with light thunder while the rain above trickled a little more forcefully and the mist thickening outside the alleyway. The clouds to the west were highlighted in red. The sun above and the brightened sky stared down upon her with warm generosity.

* * *

Author's Note: In case no one has caught on, this series is basically the Vongola guardians finding and guiding the arcobaleno instead of vice versa.

In this case, Tsuna helps Luce give birth to Aria.

In regards to the saga, this is five years after Lambo finds Reborn and five years before I-Pin meets Fon.


	3. Title and Identity: Fon

He was a flurry of movement dressed in a faded red tunic and dingy white slacks. There was a streak of mud across his one cheek and a bruise at the corner of his lips. Eyes that could have been kind – eyes almost amber but far too dark to be anything but black – were cold and dead and painless. He flowed like water in his attack, striking at one person, twirling around to attack another, leaping over another who had already fallen to bring down the last.

He stood the victor in the center of seven fallen boys, each about his own age or a year younger or older. He didn't actually care.

He didn't shout at their unconscious forms or rustle through their clothes for any loose cash. He turned around and limped away, leaving them behind.

One of his downed attackers held a pocket knife, blood bathing its metallic blade.

Stumbling along, he went out of city limits. Walking further, he entered a forest.

Going even further, he came to a meadow.

The sun had long since fallen and the throbbing pain in his leg finally dragged him to the grassy floor.

He laid there, anger making his dark gaze sparkly in the clear night. He stared up at the sky, every star glistening in the darkness above, the moon closer than ever.

His anger boiled over. "What was my _meaning_?" He growled to the heavens. "Why was I _born_?" He howled. "I am here! I am alive, but I am alone! I've never met a kind soul and I've never had a moment of peace!" He clenched his jaw.

Lightening began to dance in the sky above. He took it as a sign that the heavens planned to smite him.

"Why have the world conceive me if I am to die without cause! Why have I lived this miserable 15 years just to be torn down by all of those who should have loved me and raised me?"

The lightening came down in blinding strikes, echoed by deafening thunder.

"If I was born for nothing, –" He swiped a hand furiously across his eyes, enraged with the tears he felt falling. "– than kill me now!"

Blinded as he was by his own tears and the lightening, he didn't see the creature loping around each thunderbolt, steadily coming to the ground.

Yet he felt the small, warm hand that caressed his bangs from his face and brushed through his already mussed hair. "Is that how you feel?" A light, feminine voice questioned in a sorrowful tone.

He flinched and sat up, pushing himself away from the woman. He hadn't heard anyone approach him. He hadn't sensed a thing!

He stared at the female before him, possibly in her twenties at the latest. She had straight, jet black hair that collapsed in a graceful wave to her hips, her skin pale alabaster. Her eyes were dark, so dark that it took a moment of looking into them for him to realize that they were tinted amber. There was sadness, warmth, gentleness, and a steel determination in her gaze.

She retracted her hand and placed both palms in her lap, her legs folded beneath her. She wore a red tunic like his, only hers was bright and without tear. She also wore white slacks, yet hers were stainless…

He took notice of that instantly; not even a grass stain or a speck of dirt – was there any way into the meadow without going through the forest? Perhaps; after all, this was his first time in the meadow himself, yet…

Subtly looking about himself, all he saw at the edge of the meadow at all sides were trees and shrubs.

How was she so clean?

She tilted her head curiously at him. "Why do you lie alone and scream your woes at the sky?"

He turned his head away. "The sky is the only thing in the world that will not turn away from my woes." He tensed.

Why had he told her that?

She laughed softly. "That is true; Tsuna always listens to everyone's troubles without complaint."

He frowned. Tsuna? Who was Tsuna?

She put a hand to her lips. "Sorry, I doubt you wanted me to laugh at your expense." She looked truly guilty.

"… It doesn't matter… There's no reason to feel sad about it."

She shook her head. "Of course there is. I can tell just by looking at you that you rarely speak to another person about your troubles."

Above, the lightening and thunder was loud and bright and clouds were circling in.

"Let us begin again!" The woman pleaded. She bowed, forehead touching the ground as she placed her hands demurely in front of her. "Hello! My name is I-Pin; may I ask you your name?"

He stared at her in shock.

Had anyone ever actually bothered to say something as simple as 'hello' to him? When was the last time anyone had bothered to ask his name?

For years, he had been 'you', 'bastard', 'useless boy', 'child', 'brat'… The list went on forever, but not one of them his own name.

Now that he was finally being asked… He couldn't… He couldn't… "I… can't remember. I can't remember my name." He had had one at one point, he knew. Vaguely he remembered his mother looking down at him, bruises marring her swollen flesh after his drunken father had left for bed with another woman on his arm, and whispering his name before telling him to go to bed. That had to have been years ago – maybe around the age of three or four; five at latest.

Perhaps he couldn't remember his name that night because of what he had seen the next morning – his mother with a pair of scissors in her hand, her throat slit. His father and lover had been murdered in his parents' bed.

Later, he had learned that his mother had finally snapped; she had taken the lives of her husband and his mistress and then she had taken her own life. She had only spared his life.

He remembered that day with painful clarity, such that no small child should be able to remember with; he remembered that day now, trying to recall his own name, and felt the hatred and agony well in his chest.

"I am sorry…" The woman's – I-Pin's – soft voice penetrated his dark thoughts. Her small hand touched his cheek and it was only then that he realized that he was crying again. "I did not mean to bring up such painful memories for you…"

He jerked away from her touch. "It's nothing!" He snapped. "Stop pretending to care and leave me be!"

There was a shocked silence. "… Pretending?..." Her meek voice caught him off guard. "I am not pretending. I do care!" Her voice was steadily getting louder. "I could hear you screaming from miles away! So desolate and pained and abandoned…"

He watched, torn between awe and horror, as she began to cry. He felt awe because no one had ever before cried for him; he felt horror because steam rose from where the tears trekked down her cheeks.

She rubbed her eyes and when she opened them again, they were opaque instead of dark amber. She sniffled and then straightened her shoulders, becoming calm again. "I am sorry… It is unhealthy for me to cry… And I do not think you care to look after another crying…"

Unhealthy? It could be unhealthy for someone to cry?

He looked away, ashamed nonetheless. "You don't have to apologize; you didn't do anything wrong… I am…" He gritted his teeth and then forced himself to continue. "Sorry for making you cry." When was the last time he had uttered an apology and meant it?

"Oh, no – you do not have to apologize!" She waved a hand in front of her in a sheepish manner. "It is my fault for not making my intentions clear from the start and leading you to believe I was pretending!"

He scowled inwardly. They were getting nowhere with this apologizing business.

And then her words caught up to him; he had been so startled by her tears, he hadn't paid attention to what she had said. "Was I screaming that loud?"

"Hm?" She tilted her head curiously at him.

"You said you could hear me screaming from miles away; was I that loud?"

"Oh!" She grasped one of his hands in both of hers and he was again drawn to the fact that she was so extremely tiny… and yet she shed heat like a fire. "No, no, definitely not! It is just that I am very perceptive to the pain of those who will come to be dear to me."

He stared at her with furrowed brows. "… Those… who will come to be dear to you?"

She nodded. "Yes! The same thing happened many, many years ago. I heard a child crying and I traveled for many days, searching for the child – I flew across the sea and into land I had never before heard of! There, I found Lambo." Her expression softened. "We have been close friends for a very long time now. He is like my big brother."

She brought his hand to her lips and pressed her searing lips to each scarred knuckle. With widened eyes, he watched as the small, crisscrossing scars seemed to sizzle and then disappear as smoke.

"I hope that we as well will become close. And I hope… to give meaning to your life so that you will grow strong and sure with yourself." She put her fingers in her mouth and then touched the wet digits to his bleeding calf.

The wound that had been inflicted by his enemies burned for a short minute and then the pain entirely was gone. Looking through the small tear created by the blade to the wound, he saw nothing but clear skin.

She cupped his face between both her hands and leaned forward. He flushed darkly as her lips touched the corner of his own and then rested over each his eyes. Next, her lips gently touched his forehead.

"You do not remember your own name? Than I shall give you a new name and, perhaps, you can take that name and begin a new life."

His eyes snapped open as she enfolded him in a loose embrace. Her heat drugged him, bathing his sore muscles and aching soul with warmth. He went limp, now accepting the tears that leaked from his eyes. "Who am I?" He asked her in a small voice – like a lost child, a forgotten heart, a tortured soul.

"I do not know who you are." I-Pin murmured. "You will find out who you are."

"But you said you would give me a name."

"A name will give you a title; a name will not give you an identity."

He understood now, so he nodded against her throat, feeling his last words clog in his throat.

"I will name you…" And she paused, tilting her head up to the sky as the lightening cracked and the thunder groaned. "Fon."

His hands tangled in her tunic and he held on tightly, accepting the title without question as he cried silently.

"It is a strong and beautiful name; and, just like its meaning, you shall be like the wind: changing. The wind is gentle, but at times can be vicious. I hope you will be calm and helpful like the summer breeze that brings relief. And I hope you will also be fast and merciless like the storm's wind when that in which you love is endangered."

She stroked back his hair. Her delicate fingers wound each wayward strand into one elegant braid that ended at his shoulder blades. She pulled a strand of her own hair free and tied his hair with it.

Above, the thunder and lightening had quieted. The storm brought on by the heat wave was leaving, dragging itself to the east.

The starry sky above was revealed again.

I-Pin pulled slowly away from him. "I have to go now." She pressed a kiss to his forehead again. "But I will be back. And we will meet again. I hope that, when our paths next cross, I will see the you that is strong and beautiful."

He looked at her with all the desperation of a child, wordlessly begging her to stay.

She wiped his tears away and stood. "You should not cry… If you cry now, I might start crying, and it is unhealthy for me to cry."

He forced the tears back and stood to his feet as well. "As long as… we meet again… I can be happy." For the first time in a very long time, he smiled.

He became a completely different person when he smiled – his jaw was no longer clenched, his eyes no longer cold; his gaze was gentle, if not teary, and his pearly white teeth were revealed between softly parted lips.

"Smile like this more often." She feathered her thumb over his bottom lip. "This is… the most beautiful smile I have ever seen."

He felt his heart dance in his chest. Was that true? Could his smile alone make her look so happy and proud?

The thunder grumbled from far away and I-Pin separated herself from him.

He watched her move some steps away. "Can I walk with you to where you need to go?" He hurriedly asked.

She looked at him over her shoulder and giggled. "I need to follow the storm, or else the wrong sort of people will see me and try to kill me for their own wealth. You would not be able to keep up."

He felt indignation rise in his chest. Someone would try to kill her? He wouldn't let them!

His anger chilled into shock as the woman – the beautiful, petite woman who had just held him in her arms and comforted him – faded away.

Before him was a Chinese dragon of shimmering scarlet and golden scales, whiskers flickering from its muzzle and its long, winding tail swaying lazily.

Without looking back, the dragon took to the sky.

Staring as he was, he was just dully aware of his hair coming loose. Putting a hand to the braid she had wound, he found the makeshift hair band missing.

Looking to the ground, a glistening red scale shone among the green blades like a bleeding ruby.

* * *

Author's Note: I would like for this to be considered a sequel to 'Color Me In'. I was thinking about 'Color Me In', and then I-Pin and Fon came to mind because, in my opinion, their relationship is just as strong and highlighted as Lambo's and Reborn's.

I know it's an abrupt ending, but I couldn't think of any other way to end it… I'm sorry…


	4. Scientific Curiosity:  Verde

He had had his eyes on the man for a while now. There was something… simply captivating about him.

He was a mystery waiting to be cracked, an unknown among labels, a blank spot in the text.

He was giving him an erection just thinking about it.

Verde was a science geek; woman did not interest him, men did not interest him, classes didn't interest him. He was a super genius, an extremely quick witted teen with olive eyes hidden behind oval glasses and electric green hair shooting from his head.

He was cold hearted, callous, rude, selfish, unpredictable, and had a fetish for dissection and discovery.

Some months ago, a teen with onyx black hair and obsidian eyes had transferred into his school, Namimori high.

Some time later, he came to school with a Chinese boy with a braid flowing down his back, a warm smile on his lips, and a scarlet scale secured to his throat by a thin chain.

In all honesty, the students themselves didn't interest him – though both of them left him feeling a little giddy at times, like being forbidden to take a peek into Pandora's box – but the people who picked them up from school… No, not even that.

He didn't care for the woman with the ridiculously long hair and Chinese formal wear who welcomed the Chinese teen like a mother into her arms, nor did he care for the slim man with the bronze hair who sometimes accompanied the two men. Other times, it was a tall man with amber eyes and a dark complexion, at some times it was a man with shock white hair and fierce gunmetal grey eyes.

He didn't care for any of them; they didn't arise his curiosity such as this man did.

This man had sable black hair and emerald green eyes. He had beige-colored skin and a softly deviant grin. He wore buckskin and leather, fingerless black gloves on his hands and black polish on his nails.

Whenever he came, Verde could be the complete campus away and yet he would feel the man's presence like a breath against the back of his neck.

It could be infatuation, some bored part of him muttered.

He could look interesting on the inside, a more evil part of him snickered.

He smirked as he stared out the window at the man who welcomed the Chinese teen and the foreboding boy with a warm grin. He said something and the raven-haired teen looked away with a scowl on his face while the Chinese teen answered with a content expression on his face.

Listening to gossip, apparently the Chinese boy had been a ruffian back in his own country, but had been adopted by the beautiful woman who occasionally came to the school.

The other boy was rumored to have killed his own father some years ago, but then had been adopted by the man Verde now stared at with open fixation.

His one hand was wandering towards his fly, images of cutting the man open and finding what secrets he withheld that gave Verde such dirty dreams at night making him want relief more than modesty, the raven-haired boy's gaze caught his through the window.

They stared at each other for long moments, that obsidian gaze narrowing as if he knew _exactly_ what Verde was doing.

Instead of feeling shame or fear, he smirked and continued with what he had been doing.

There were ways to take care of brats like that.

Three months later, the man came to the school again.

Verde raced to the Namimori entrance, beating both the Chinese and raven-haired boy to the man's side.

The man frowned at him curiously as he approached at a suspiciously loose gait. "… And you must be Verde…" The man murmured.

The teen stopped in his tracks, admitting that he was surprised the man knew his name. Had the two boys who usually came to meet the man told him his identity?

Maybe he had been too obvious when he had jacked off under the raven's steely gaze…

"My name is Lambo." The man introduced himself. "Now that introductions are out of the way, _please_ stop visualizing my body on a lab table."

Now he startled.

Not even the two transfer students should know that.

The man – Lambo – raised a brow at him, as if understanding his discomfort. "Goodness… It's not very subtle when you go out into a thunderstorm and start muttering lewd things aloud."

Verde blinked; he remembered that day, actually. He had been coming back from an underground black market, a few more equipment pieces closer to having this very man in his grasp; at the time, he had seen no problem in lucidly speaking to himself. The storm had been coming down so heavy that even with his umbrella, he had been soaked; not a single other person had been about.

So how… did this man know?

As if they were dear friends, Lambo threw an arm over his shoulders and dragged him into a one-armed hug. "You're a smart kid, Verde; you could do pretty good things if you took your head out of the gutter for a while."

Verde was torn between choking on shock and going limp in the man's embrace.

This was the first time in years he had had human contact.

Usually, touching other people disgusted him; they were such dirty, earthy people with sweat and lusts and weaknesses… Touching other people made his skin crawl, so he kept touches to a minimal.

Yet this…

The strangest thought went through his head: _'He's not human.'_

Instead of thinking himself insane for the accusation, he formed a hypothesis for it, an experiment to prove it, and a time to commit the experiment.

The hypothesis: Lambo is of a species not human.

Experiment: In some way commit a crime against Lambo that would kill a human and see if he lives or not.

Time: - …

Verde watched as a truck came barreling down the road like a godsend, the driver visible through the windshield as yelling into his phone.

Lambo was hugging him close to the curb.

Time: Right… _now_.

He dipped one foot behind Lambo's ankle, tripping him in the same moment he shoved the man away from him.

Lambo was sent off balance, arms swinging out from his body to catch his balance.

His fingertips singed with green energy and Verde's gaze widened as his eyes flashed the same electric green.

Lambo went down under the truck, the vehicle spinning out of control for a moment and then speeding away as a 'hit and run'.

And Verde was left staring at… nothing.

There was no Lambo to be seen.

The power box attached to the telephone pole on the opposite side of the road was fried. A thunder bolt struck some miles away.

Verde's hands were shaking.

Conclusion: Lambo wasn't human.

"Hm… This will make the mistress sad; she does not like it when others abuse her old friend."

Behind him stood the Chinese teen and the raven-haired teen.

The Chinese boy was frowning, but in such a way that it almost looked peaceful.

The other teen wore a poker face. "You'll be coming back with us." The raven stated with a no-nonsense tone.

Verde raised an eyebrow. "Says who? You two?"

Three days later, Verde was moved into a small home with the two teens and a small five year old girl.

The oldest was Reborn, the raven haired teen who had apparently been training his entire life to be a hitman.

The second oldest was Fon, the Chinese boy who had been traumatized but then saved by a dragon and so had come to find peace within himself and a meaning in following his 'beloved mistress'.

The child was Aria, a small Italian girl with a tomboy complex who had been adopted into the fail attempt of a family after her mother had been killed.

Of course, all this knowledge came at a price.

Verde was officially part of the fail attempt of the family.

"And if you try to leave…" Lambo was saying as he helped Verde unpack. "Reborn will be more than happy to find you."

He would never admit that he almost happy to be dragged into the mess these so proclaimed 'elements' stated as their 'earthbound family'.

"Please tell me this isn't an anatomy study of me." Lambo sighed, holding a rather well done recreation of his own form with an open box in front of him labeled with a detailed description of the now known thunder/lightening element.

Oh, yes; now he was closer than ever to the heart throbbing mysteries of the world.

* * *

Author's Note: … You have to admit, there was no better way of putting it.


	5. Moving On: Colonello

"Why…" His voice was hoarse from cursing, from howling, from roaring… from inner pain. "Hey, you need to come back." He injected as much strength as he could into his voice. "You _need_ to." His icy blue eyes were dry but agony made them bright.

He pounded a swollen, bleeding fist into the newly erected tombstone. "Come back, damn it…" His forehead hit the rich, churned soil. "Hey, I'll train harder, I swear… I'll take it seriously… I'll stop being an idiot and I'll stop flirting with other people… Hey, I'll do anything you want…" His broad shoulders shook, but he didn't make a sound. He didn't shed a tear.

The tombstone read the name _Lal Mirch_.

"Why'd you have to take that bullet?" He hit his other fist to the soil. "That bullet was meant for _me_…"

~:~:~:~:~:~:~: _This is My Story _:~:~:~:~:~:~

He was a wall of tawny muscle, ice blue eyes unblinking and focused with a cold, unfeeling, predatory shine. His golden hair was plastered to his forehead, each short lock drenched in sweat and blood.

He sent a fist in front of him and followed it through with a head butt.

The crowd above roared their approval and their disappointment.

The boy he had just knocked out cold lay on the ground, a bruised, bloody body a few years younger than himself.

A voice howled over the rest with the mechanical undertone of an overhead speaker: "Lone Rifle versus Number 72, Lone Rifle wins."

He doesn't take the hands offered by the onlookers, the women and men with hungry eyes and cheek-splitting grins; he leaps out of the fighting pit onto even land with the spectators, ignorant of how they drag their gazes appreciatively over his form.

Women brush against him, their lusts peaked. Men try to look tough and stand taller then him, sparks of fear in their glares.

"Number 93 versus Number 21, begin."

Like a switch had been turned off, he was alone.

In the middle of a crowd desperate for bloodshed, broken souls, and destroyed bodies – he went untouched, unseen, and unheard as senses peeked towards the newly begun match.

The tension that had been coiling between his shoulder blades slowly began to unwind as he made his way out of the crowd and collected his dues from the mediator.

"Number 93 versus number 21, number 21 wins." The same baritone voice that had announced his own victory announced the next with the same tone.

He takes the stairs out of the filthy den.

He was a few hundred dollars richer as he stepped out of the door into the back of a smoky pub.

No one looked at him and he didn't look at them.

For one, no one wanted to pick with the greatest underground fighter this side of the state.

For two, no one wanted to bother with a 15 year old street brat.

He left the bar and got on the streets, hands in pockets and face downturned.

The sun beat down on him with menacing strength.

To his right was the road.

A tiny girl ran off the sidewalk after a wayward puppy, wailing for the creature to come back.

A cab was racing down the lane towards her.

There was a screech, a scream, and then a heart-stopping 'thump'.

Screams arose.

"Someone, call 911!"

"Are they okay?"

"Oh god!"

The tiny girl was sprawled two yards from the cab's left tire. After a moment, she stirred, shakily sitting up. When she caught sight of her bloodied palms and knees, she began crying.

A small crowd gathered around her, trying to calm her down while others went in search of her parents and another few went off after her puppy in hopes it would calm her down.

A relatively smaller crowd was gathered around the blonde, limp on the ground and 10 feet from the front end of the cab, body twisted at awkward angles. His face was pressed to the hot tar street and blood seeped from road burns along his frame as well as from the corner of his mouth and one eye.

The crowd gathered around him was too scared to touch him, too shocked to do much more then stare and numbly dial for help.

"THAT WAS AN EXTREME SACRIFICE!"

A man with bronze skin, shock white hair, and gunmetal grey eyes shoved his way through the uncertain crowd to the fallen teen's side.

He crouched down next to the 'Lone Rifle' and unceremoniously shoved him onto his back.

The blonde released a pained wheeze, blood spurting from his lips.

The crowd began screaming something about getting the 'crazy man away from that _poor_ boy', but it was no more important than background noise.

"I thought you gave up doing the right thing back when _she_ died." The man grunted.

The blonde's eyes widened and he tried to mumble something hurriedly, a snarl twisting his mouth.

"Huh? What was that? I couldn't understand you through all that blood you're throwing up!" A light bulb seemed to go off in the man's eyes. "I EXTREMELY FORGOT! Humans are fragile." He nodded as if it explained everything. "Humans aren't _supposed_ to lose blood!"

With that said, he lifted the broken boy into his arms as if he weighed no more than a feather and began running.

Some of the onlookers tried to run after him, but the longer the man ran, the faster he seemed to go.

He reached such a speed that the objects around them seemed to stop moving – even the cars zipping down the road seemed to be moving as slow as slugs.

The blonde shut his eyes – just for a moment, a small moment in which he visibly lost conscious for a miniscule second for the obvious reasons of his wounds – and then opened them…

He and the man were in a small house; more accurately, they were in a kitchen.

Situated at the dining table was a boy with an apricot complexion, dark amber eyes, and a braid winding down his back. His features spoke of Chinese heritage and he wore a red tunic with white slacks. There was a book in front of him, the typing looking like kanji.

Across from him was a boy about the same age with obsidian eyes, onyx black hair, and an alabaster complexion with strong features. He wore a yellow sleeved vest and black dress pants. In front of him was a cup of black coffee.

Both their gazes stared at the 'Lone Rifle' with a look similar to 'another one?'

"CLEAR THE TABLE!" The man holding the teen up yelled as if no one would be able to hear him otherwise. "THIS IS GONNA GET EXTREME!"

The Chinese boy nonchalantly lifted his book and the raven-haired teen held his coffee cup to his lips, both of them acting as if there was nothing out of the ordinary about having a man suddenly appear in their midst holding a tortured form to his chest.

The blonde was slammed unto the table's surface. His body shuddered and blood flew from his lips like a fountain.

The man slapped his hands over his chest and – …

Golden energy – like powdery sunshine – crept from his palms into the teen's body, sending him aglow.

When the light receded, the teen sat up, ice blue eyes wide with shock and something relative to fear yet almost angrier.

The bronze man smirked, crossing his arms over his chest. "EXTREME!" He screamed in a way others would scream 'SUCCESS'.

"… Why…" The blonde growled. "Did you do that?"

"Why?" The Chinese boy murmured. "My first word would have been 'what', but I suppose everyone is different."

Another teen stumbled into the room, this one with bespectacled olive eyes and electric green hair. "It is _five in the morning_. The least you all can do is allow me to sleep after having spent three entire weeks awake – …" The odd teen caught sight of the blonde. "… This one looks like a grease monkey." He commented dryly.

A small girl with raven-wing black hair came in behind him, her deep blue eyes peeking at the blonde. She pouted. "I have _another_ big brother?" She was clearly upset. "Don't you start getting overprotective too!" She whined.

The blonde was at a visible loss for words.

The man barked with laughter. "This is Colonello! He did the EXTREME thing and jumped in front of a car for a little girl!"

The Chinese boy seemed impressed; the raven-haired boy didn't seem to care either way; the green-haired teen looked speculative.

The little girl let loose a high-pitched sound of annoyance. "You _are_ going to be overprotective!"

"What the… Hey, what the fuck is this?" The blonde – Colonello – finally managed to utter.

"Huh?" The bronze-skinned man turned back to him from where he had looked to the child. "Isn't it obvious?"

"What's supposed to be obvious?" He growled.

"You're part of this fail attempt at a family." The green-haired man stated.

"Id' try to run away if I were you." The raven-haired boy offered helpfully.

"Welcome to our humble home." The Chinese boy peacefully welcomed.

"Booo!" The little girl wailed.

The man punched him in the shoulder in a way that should have been seen as brotherly or affectionately but instead sent the blonde to the floor. "I knew you'd fit in." He barked. "I knew it ever since you tried to die in your girlfriend's place!"

The Chinese boy got to his feet and grabbed the girl, murmuring something about this being an 'adult' conversation while the girl stated loudly that that couldn't be true.

The raven-haired teen languidly stood and grabbed the bespectacled teen by the hair, dragging him out of the kitchen with him.

"You bastard – !" Colonello sent his fist sailing towards the man's face.

The man shifted, slipped under his hit, and smashed his own fist into Colonello's jaw, sending him to the ground with spots dancing in his gaze.

"If you want to box, I'll EXTREMELY fight you!" And then he grunted, jabbing a thumb in the direction of the front door. "But we have to take it outside. Tsuna and Lambo get extreme anytime someone starts tearing down the house."

"Hey, is this a _game_ to you?" Colonello growled, stumbling back to his feet.

"Of course not!" The man fisted both hands at his sides, his eyes gaining an insane gleam. "Boxing is never a game! IT IS A WAY OF LIFE!"

"Hey, I'm leaving." The blonde snapped.

He found the front door and shoved it open.

And then he just stared…

He wasn't in America anymore, was he?

"Waaah~" A woman with short brown hair and kind brown eyes came down the stairs behind him. "Reborn was just telling me that we had another mouth to feed!"

Colonello turned towards the short woman. The woman smiled up at him. "You can call me Nana – I care for the children here. And you? What is your name, young man?"

"… Hey, It's not important."

Nana seemed startled. "What? Not important? But your name has to be important! All names are important; what will I call you by if I don't know your name?"

"I'm not staying."

"Nonsense!" The bronze man came out of the kitchen. "He's Colonello!"

Nana put her hands to her lips. "Colonello? What a nice name~ Well! I better start making breakfast! I'll have to make a huge meal for another growing boy!" She bowed to Colonello. "Please, please, make yourself comfortable! This house doesn't have that many rooms – Fon and Reborn have to share one and it's dangerous to go in Verde's – but you're welcome to settle right in!"

With her greeting completed, she went off into the kitchen, soon followed by the sounds of bonking pots and pans and then the clatter of silverware on plates.

Colonello stood uncertainly in the doorway.

The man clapped a hand on his shoulder, looking down at him with frighteningly serious eyes. "I never got to meet Lal Mirch." He admitted in a gravelly voice. "But I know what it's like to lose someone you love to the _extreme_." He dragged Colonello into a hug, ignoring how the blonde growled and tried to hit him. "The greatest part about life… is LIVING TO THE EXTREME! You can't live if you can't move on – and that's a waste of life. If you can't live, then what was her sacrifice for?"

Colonello froze.

His fists landed noiselessly at his sides.

And, for the very first time in his life… he cried.

He cried for Lal Mirch _and_ he cried for himself. He cried because it hurt too much not to cry.

And he cried because the bronze man was holding him _too_ tightly, _too_ comfortingly, and telling him that it was _extreme_ to cry and grieve.

He cried and didn't make a sound.

From the kitchen, Nana's voice sounded. "Breakfast is ready!"

Feet pounded on the staircase. "I'm hungry!" The girl's voice sounded. "C'mon, Colonello, _food_!" Someone tugged on his pant leg before he heard the soft pitter patter of feet running away.

"Nana, thank you for this gracious meal." The Chinese boy's voice murmured next. "Verde wishes for his meal to be brought up to him, by the way."

Nana's groan of irritation. "We eat together!"

"I'll get him for you, mama." Reborn's monotone voice offered.

"So sweet of you, Reborn!"

"I'm coming!" Verde's anxious voice sounded from upstairs. "Don't send that Spartan to my room!"

"Colonello." The Chinese boy's voice was much closer than before, as if he stood next to the bronze man.

Colonello couldn't be sure; he was hiding his face and couldn't see.

"When you are ready, I will have a plate saved for you." A hand landed on Colonello's head, petting the dirty wet strands.

And he cried a little more.

Because, for the first time since Lal Mirch had died, he was part of a family.

* * *

Author's Note: It's good to update… I finished up two other stories, so now I can get back to this!

In case no one caught on, the 'bronze man' is Ryohei, A.K.A., the sun. Colonello was in America, but then Ryohei speed raced them to Japan.

Any questions? Do I get love or hatred?


	6. Bringing Objects to Life: Mammon

He hated his clients.

They were always so greedy, so needy, so _ready_… They were far too excited and eager.

More then once, he had had to remind them to pay beforehand or else they simply believed they could get what they wanted for free and continued on with the filthy deed. Their groans, moans, and whimpers were so annoying… especially when they were in the mood to dirty talk.

The only good thing about his clients were that they agreed whole-heartedly whenever he said he wouldn't be taking the hood off; they would rather not see the face of the boy they had just paid to fuck and he would rather they not see him.

They just wanted his body – and they paid heavily for it. His slim figure with pale alabaster skin, hairless with a tapering waist and rosy nipples… his customers loved it.

They didn't care that he was underage or that he was a boy. They didn't care that he just laid there and occasionally sighed his boredom as they humped him like dogs in heat. They paid, they came, and then they were gone.

He finished with his latest client – some old man with a round, bubbly belly and a premature ejaculation – and took a shower in the rundown apartment he met his clients in.

He let the water bathe him, carefully ticking off the seconds and doing the mathematics in his head of how much money he was wasting by washing himself off.

Exactly five minutes later, he was out of the shower and dressing, not caring one way or the other that the apartment was empty of his customer and the bed looked like someone had shat on it (and maybe his client had, who knows – he had been pretty old).

He left it for house cleaning, abandoning the room in his too-large purple beanie that drooped over his eyes and his matching purple duster that swayed to his ankles.

There was a thin layer of mist, he noted as he hit the street. It wasn't to be unexpected; there had been a light drizzle earlier and, after such a long period of dry heat, the roads gave off steam.

Seeing as how it was closing in on midnight, he was the only person on the sidewalk. His customer had long since driven away.

It was cheaper to walk anyway.

His cell phone went off and he took it out of his coat pocket, glancing at the lit screen.

He sighed and flipped it open, holding it to his ear. "Minutes cost money, Bel."

"_Ushishishishi… Why is my baby so stingy?"_ A light, slightly psychotic voice lilted from the other end.

"I'm practical." He shot back. "You're paying for my next phone bill."

"_Aaaah… Don't be so cruel, baby…"_

Bel and he had been best friends since childhood – though not many people would have been able to guess that. He had always been so withdrawn and greedy while Bel had been open and… not _friendly_ – he had enjoyed being a bully while thinking it was his god-given right to be so.

Somehow, though, they had ended up staying close to each other since age five.

Ever since first meeting, Bel had liked to call him _baby_… Mammon hadn't understood why in the beginning, but with age and experience came knowledge.

He remembered the aged face that had been above him not an hour ago, full of pleasure and drool and droopy eyes. He thought about the many times before that he had seen similar faces in similar conditions.

It was best for him not to get into a relationship.

"Stop calling me that."

"_Are you going to try and stop me?"_

No, no he wasn't. It was pointless to fight a lost battle.

"Why are you calling me?"

"_You said we'd meet up at my house to play the new videogame I got!" _Bel whined from the other end. _"Ushishishi~ I should punish you for disobeying a prince~"_

That was the other thing about Bel – because he was related to the royal Italian family, Savoy, he believed he was also a prince; despite the fact that he wasn't even of the Savoy main branch. He was a cousin or something…

Sadly, he also had a twin brother who believed himself a prince. Apparently, they would one day choose a victor among themselves (by killing one of them) and then destroy the Savoy main branch, taking the title for himself (whichever one was alive at that point). They even had a butler they had dragged into the mess.

Mammon sighed; the only good thing about Bel's 'prince-complex' was that he was actually filthy rich.

Mammon assured himself of this even though the part of him that was constantly thinking money grew a little hollow at the thought.

"I never agreed to that." He answered. "Therefore, you can't punish me for it."

Strangely, out of everyone Bel had ever harmed, Mammon had never been one of them. He liked to 'tease' him – meaning he occasionally threw daggers in Mammon's direction without ever hitting him.

In other words, Bel wouldn't actually 'punish' him.

"Hurry it up – you're wasting my battery." Mammon complained.

"_Ushishishi~ Are you coming over now?"_

He thought about it.

At Bel's house, he could settle down on Bel's bed – which was as huge as it was soft (even though it had many tears in the covers from where Bel had been bored) – and play senseless games with the blonde until they both went brain dead.

Wasted time was wasted money, though… His night didn't end at midnight; there were other men who liked to play in the dark and he knew where to find them.

"No." He curtly decided. Before Bel could complain into his ear, he shut the phone and slid it into his pocket.

His phone instantly began to go off again, but he ignored it. It went off one time after another, vibrating insistently against his hip.

Up ahead of him, he saw a small body waiting at the street corner.

She had purple hair that fell just beneath her shoulders in a soft-looking mane and an indigo eye, the other eye obscured by the purple wave; she wore a white sweater over a frilly lilac shirt and a layered white skirt that went to just above her knees. She held a small, soft lilac clutch purse in both her hands.

She looked painfully innocent, Mammon concluded.

He thought to just walk around her except…

She stepped right in his path.

"If I give you all the money in my purse…" Even her voice was soft and innocent; and yet that one eye seemed to almost stare right into him. "Will you stop what you're doing and go see him?"

He tensed. By 'him', he knew who she meant. But how did she know? Had she been listening in on him? … No, that couldn't be it. She would have had to have followed him from a few blocks back and then somehow get ahead of him. He knew the layout of the town like the back of a dollar bill – she couldn't have done it. So how did she know?

Mammon wasn't sure what to do; so he went with instinct.

"My time's not cheap; you wouldn't have enough money in that purse to buy it for that long."

She handed him the handbag, as if to prove him wrong.

With a raised eyebrow he was sure she couldn't see, he opened the surprisingly heavy purse.

Unlike what he had thought, there was more than enough for her wish.

He was looking a purse full of gold coins. "… Muu…" Was the only sound he made of surprise.

"I know you don't care about your body, and I know you really like money… but, please, think about what is in your heart for just a moment…" She begged of him. Her one indigo eye was ancient as it stared _into_ him. "Your life doesn't have to be like this, Mammon."

He flinched. How did she know his name?

"This is a good price." He concluded after a tense moment of silence. "But it wouldn't sustain me forever and then I'd just end up back on the streets again, anyway."

Being a male hooker wasn't really a fulfilling job; on top of that, he dealt a little in drugs and had two day jobs – none of them were duties he took pleasure in, but he gained a tidy little sum every week that made it all feel a little more worth it.

When he had been a child, he had had nothing except a drunk mother who liked to play around with abusive men. And so he had been greedy whenever he had had something that didn't rise up to hurt him – money being one such thing; how could the dollar bills harm him? By giving him a fatal paper cut? That was unlikely. When he had been old enough to work, he had worked till his fingertips bled and sleep became nearly obsolete.

Bel, who had always had everything, had always liked to tease him about being a workaholic, about being stingy, about being greedy… Mammon couldn't help it, really.

He loved money. No one earned money by doing nothing.

The woman was looking at him with pain in her eye. "It doesn't have to sustain you forever – you have someone who loves you and you love him too; isn't that enough?" Her face was a mask of sorrow. "You work yourself endlessly everyday… and then you work yourself long into the night until your soul breaks a little more. Can't you remember the anger, fear, and hatred you felt your first time?"

How long has this woman been watching him?

Nonetheless, he immediately remembered his first client.

His first time had been with him held down to the sagging, stained bed his mother slept on, his mother's boyfriend violating him. He had been seven years old. He remembered the alcohol on the man's breath, his mother's drunken slur in the background; he remembered the mist that had shrouded his bedroom window as he had stared desperately out of it, as if he had believed an angel would drop from the sky to help him.

It had been the first and last time he had ever cried.

After that experience, his body had become an object to make money – not an actual part of him.

The woman flinched, as if insulted by her own question. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought that up… That wasn't your fault…" Her voice became a hoarse whisper. "That was _my_ fault… I'm sorry! I was right outside the window… I didn't do anything… Mukuro told me not to dwindle in the life of humans, but then I just couldn't forget… I should have come to help you much sooner."

He was more confused then ever.

"_I was right outside the window…"_

"_Mukuro told me not to dwindle in the life of humans…" _

"_I should have come to help you much sooner…"_

He scowled. For the first time in his life, he turned money down.

"Take it and leave." He tossed the clutch purse back at her. "You're wasting my time."

When he tried to walk around her again, she stepped in his path… _again_.

"I'm not going to give up this time." She murmured. "If I have to, I will kidnap you."

She suddenly sounded frighteningly serious.

Mammon eyed her. Did she honestly think she was strong enough? He might not look like much, but he knew how to defend himself against the best.

Experience was a harsh but honest teacher.

She looked utterly defenseless, even with her determined gaze.

"I'm leaving now." He sidestepped her.

She stepped in his path again.

He went around the other side.

She was suddenly in front of him.

Her features were changing – becoming more masculine. She even appeared to be getting _taller _and _broader_ if that was possible.

Her clothes were _melting_; and the mist was moving in, beginning to swirl mythically around her.

He grimaced. He didn't know what was going on and he didn't _want_ to know. He didn't want to have to pay for a therapist, now did he?

He broke out into a full-dash run, going in the opposite direction of the woman… man… _thing_.

He didn't get to corner before the mist wound around him in tangle lengths, halting him where he stood.

For one precious moment, he couldn't breathe.

And then he was free.

A man stood in front of him – indigo hair, one cobalt blue eye, one red eye, and a tall and handsome figure.

For some reason, he was instantly reminded of the woman he had just run from.

"Kufufufu~ You shouldn't upset my beautiful Nagi. She was only trying to help." The man smirked.

He threw the clutch purse back at Mammon, forcing him to catch it or else let it fall to the floor.

"Nagi is too sweet and kind to say something such as this – but if I see you on the streets again, selling your body or drugs, I will kill you; and I will make it long and painful."

Mammon wasn't sure whether or not to heed the warning.

A large part of him most certainly felt the need to concede. The other part of him, fractionally bigger then the former part, didn't want to give up _two_ income sources. Besides, what was death to him? What was _pain_ to him?

The man sniggered. "Kufufufu~ I can tell you're conflicted. So let me offer more… _persuasion_."

He rested a hand on Mammon's shoulder as if it was necessary and turned him around.

There before him was Bel's house.

"If you ever make my Nagi cry tears not for joy, I will utterly humiliate you with your lover human as a witness. Say… I don't know… Showing him your past?"

Why did that prospect actually frighten him? A body was nothing more then a way of making money – It shouldn't matter if Bel knew…

"I don't take kindly to threats." He sniped. "You would do better to threaten to take my money away."

The man sniggered into his ear. "Now why would someone so desperate to keep their money offer an idea to take it away? Hmmm… Might it be that… You would rather be dirt-ass poor all over again instead of having your dirty little secrets revealed to your lover human?"

Mammon grimaced. "Leave me alone."

"No. You made my beautiful Nagi upset."

Agitated, he went for the front door. "'Nagi' isn't my responsibility. No one paid me to babysit."

His wrist was grabbed. He reflexively looked into the eyes of his offender.

He saw his past laid out in that damnable red orb, from his earliest memory of cutting his hand on a broken beer bottle left on the ground after his mother's drunken rage to the night he had lost his virginity (and, in an essence, his body) to his first customer as a (willing) hooker to this very night…

He saw it all; the contents of his stomach flipped uncertainly.

"Will you be going back out on the streets?" The man purred.

His hands were shaking, but he shook his head nonetheless.

Some things… weren't worth the money. They just… honestly weren't worth it. His sanity, though strained and weak, was one of the last things he had that wasn't money.

"Will you make my Nagi cry again?"

He wasn't sure what would set that woman off – so how could he make a promise like that?

He shrugged indecisively.

"Kufufufufu~ good enough; now, take the money and go." The man pushed him away towards Bel's home.

He was quick to run, not stopping until he was behind the front door and it was locked securely. Looking out the window close to it, the man was gone.

The woman – the one he presumed to be 'Nagi' – looked at him with that one hopeful eye before mist rose like dust from the ground and covered her.

He swore, in that moment, that he heard her voice like a whisper from the vapor saying:

"_It hurts to heal, but it's healing to hurt."_

When the mist sank back down, she was gone.

"Ushishishishishi~ the peasant has returned~"

Mammon ignored Rasiel as he trekked up the winding staircase. Nonetheless, the twin followed him. "You should serve _me_ instead of the fake prince~ I will pay you handsomely to bow down at my feet while he watches~"

"Get a life, imbecile." He sighed.

"Ushishishishishishi~ What was that?" The twin was obviously pissed. "I'll take that beanie away from you and reveal your true identity if you're not nice. I bet you're ugly beneath those baggy, poor-people clothes you wear~"

"Stop following me."

"Ushishishishi~!"

A dagger swept through the air, cutting off a snippet of Rasiel's fine blonde hair.

Bel was sitting on the railing at the top of the long staircase, a demented grin on his half-hidden face. "Ushishishishi~ that's _my_ baby."

He felt that oddly content sensation again.

He forced the clutch purse into his pocket and surpassed Bel, aiming for his room while the twins bantered in that psychotic way they had that usually ended with destroyed property.

What a waste of money.

He landed on Bel's bed and curled himself in beneath the blankets.

He didn't feel like playing video games anymore; he just wanted to _sleep_.

He didn't bother to get undressed.

There were some crashes from down the hall, many maniacal giggles, and then a dirt-smudged (but luckily not dirtied with blood; _everyone_ knows how Bel gets when he sees blood – especially his own) Bel returned to his room some 10 minutes later.

"Ushishishishi~ the baby is sleeping in my bed already?"

The blonde stalked across the bed towards the still-awake Mammon, the dark-amethyst haired teen watching him from beneath the brim of his beanie.

Mammon's frown deepened the closer Bel got. "I'm trying to go to sleep. Don't disturb me."

"What would be the fun in that?" Bel settled down with his face an inch from his. "C'mon, the prince orders you to play the video game with me~"

"No." Mammon turned over in the bed. "I've had a long night." What an understatement. "Leave me alone."

"The baby shouldn't have come here if he wanted to be alone."

He was tempted to tell him that he hadn't really had a choice. However, he didn't want to have to deal with the questioning that would come from such a retort.

Instead, he buried his head beneath the blankets, refusing to acknowledge his friend.

"Ushishishishi~ Fine, Mammon can watch _me_ play the game!"

The bed retained its former shape as Bel got off.

A moment later, screaming could be heard followed by the slicing of knives.

His unconquerable curiosity drove him to peek above the blankets.

Bel was killing many innocent civilians in his new game, completely ignoring the people he _should_ be killing.

"… Muu… Give me the controller." He sighed. "You can't play right."

Bel smirked. "Ushishishishi~ I knew you'd play with me."

~:~:~:~:~:~:~

Somewhere close to five in the morning, Bel finally fell asleep. He was draped over the side of the bed, his overgrown bangs splashed over his upper face and bed as his feet touched the floor. He snored in his sleep, a light 'sisisisisi…' – which, if he thought about it, actually almost sounded like Bel was laughing.

He held a demolished Wii controller in one hand.

After having finished with the blood curdling Xbox game, they had moved on to the more physical Wii. After some time of playing at that, Bel had become bored and had decided that the Wii looked much better inside out.

And so, another good sum of money was wasted at the 'prince's' house.

Mammon hadn't been able to go to sleep, despite his earlier plans to do so.

He stared out the window, frowning at the gathered mist.

If he stared long enough, would he see the woman again? Would he see the man?

His hand went into his pocket and he touched the clutch purse with a delicate fingertip.

Why was he waiting?

Just as he went to turn away, he saw a flash of purple in the vapor.

The woman was gazing up at him, her one indigo eye watery and her lips turned softly up in a smile.

Those words came back to him.

"_It hurts to heal, but it's healing to hurt."_

In the next moment, she was gone.

Mammon grimaced and turned away from the window, going back to the bed.

"Hey, Bel, sleep right." He poked the self-proclaimed prince's forehead.

"Sisisisisisi…"

"Muu…" He debated whether or not to leave the blonde like that.

After a moment, he decided he deserved it and slipped onto the other side of the bed, getting comfortable beneath the blankets.

The bed dipped and the frame groaned just slightly.

Bel wrapped an arm around his waist over the sheets. "Ushishishi~ the baby fell for the prince's awesome acting…"

He should have known. "Let go. I'm going to sleep."

Bel's nose nuzzled into the back of his head. "Take me with you." He snobbishly ordered.

It took a moment for Mammon to hear the words instead of the arrogant tone.

"What?"

"Baby should take me into his dreams~"

He tensed. "Did you see your own blood?" He sighed.

"Nope~"

"Then you must be high on something." He concluded.

"The prince had a dream and there was a perverted man with a red eye. The peasant told the prince to take what he wanted~"

So he _hadn't_ been faking sleep… Or, at least, he hadn't been faking the entire time….

Hold on a dollar bill… A perverted man with a red eye…

He was instantly reminded of the man who had threatened him earlier – the one the woman had turned into.

He grimaced. "Dreams aren't part of reality."

But he hadn't been dreaming earlier when that man had grabbed him and showed him his past. Was it possible he had gotten into Bel's dreams?

He refused to think about it; again, therapists didn't come cheap.

"Ushishishi~ but the prince can make _this_ part of reality…"

The blonde's arms wormed beneath the blankets and Mammon felt a hand on his belly, fingers splayed apart.

He had felt dozens of touches like it – hands of various sizes always getting overly familiar with his body…

So why did his body jerk? What was this uncomfortable heat pooling in his belly?

These were all unusual, almost _frightening_ sensations…

And it had only been one touch.

"Stop it, Bel." He snapped. "I'm going to sleep."

"Nope! My baby is going to become my princess~"

"I'm a guy."

"I'll kill anyone who says you're not my princess~"

"I'm a _guy_."

"Ushishishi~ does my princess want me to punish him?"

"Fuck off."

"I'd rather fuck you."

"_Bel_ - !" He gasped.

Bel's one hand had wondered up his chest and fondled his one nipple, taking the bud between his thumb and pointer finger and pinching it.

Why was he suddenly so alive? He had had men suck at his chest like babies to milk before and it had never done him a bit of pleasure. He had actually found it pretty annoying because it left marks – …

_Marks_.

He went through a visual checklist of any hickeys, bite marks, or bruises he could have. He always charged extra for any mark left…

A man three days ago had had Mammon over doggy style and had bitten the back of his neck hard enough to break skin. He had charged him heavily for it, but the mark was still there.

_And Bel was at his back_. Mammon could actually feel the blonde's hot breath bathing the bite; he was so close and if he saw that, would he be able to guess where he had gotten it?

The thought shouldn't have been so discomforting.

"Ushishishi~ my princess suddenly went so tense~ I'll have to be _gentler _~ !" He felt that last strand of hair hiding the bite mark fall away as Bel nuzzled the back of his neck.

There was dead silence.

Bel forced him onto his back, holding his wrists above his head as he straddled him. There was a deranged, toothy grin on his lips. "My princess _has_ been virtuous, _right_?"

What answer could he give?

He could tell Bel that he was raped… But what would Bel do with that kind of news? Would he blame it on him and continue to fuck him or would he go on a hunting spree? Apparently, there was no third option where Bel simply wouldn't react.

Bel reacted to _everything_.

He doubted telling Bel the truth would be smart.

So he petulantly turned his head. "I'm not your princess."

The toothy grin disappeared in but a moment.

"Who has touched my princess?"

Many, many people…

Instead, he said: "My body doesn't come cheap." That didn't even _sound_ like a proper answer.

However, Bel _knew_ him; he knew how he thought, he knew about his money-greed, and he knew how willing he was to make a buck.

And, suddenly, Bel just _knew_.

The grip at his wrists tightens until his fingers go numb.

"I'll buy you. You'll be _my_ princess~ and I'll kill anyone who touches you."

"Bel, let me go." He was aiming for that age-old, undefeatable calm.

Bel forcefully kissed him, nipping his bottom lip harshly.

For one reason or another, he gasped – _why_ did he gasp?

Oh, right… He never let his customers kiss him. This was the first time he had been kissed _since_ his first time…

He chalked it down to chemistry – they just had very good _chemistry_… Excellent chemistry.

Bel took out one of his daggers (where from, he did not know) and dragged it through Mammon's worn black long-sleeved shirt (he had taken off his duster some hours ago, thankfully), tearing it in half.

His heart skipped a beat and his breath hitched.

They had _explosive_ chemistry.

And he trembled because he had always believed he was asexual… that was all.

Bel left a bloody trail down his front, insistently muttering to himself in that damnable snigger that he would kill one person for every mark he found on Mammon, whether or not they were innocent.

So far, that couldn't be going well; if Mammon's mental calculations were right, there would be nine marks total – six of them would be scars and the last three too stubborn to fade away.

The bite on the back of his neck was one of them.

Whether or not people believed nine to be a big number, it suddenly became enormous when it was a body count.

He shoved at Bel's shoulders. "Stop it!" His heart was doing flips in his chest and his belly was a painful knot of tension. His face felt hot and he wanted more than ever to take the beanie off – it was retaining too much heat.

He was going to go brain dead and it would have nothing to do with video games.

He cast a glare out the window; suddenly, that peaceful woman (or devilish man – whatever that person had been) seemed like his personal punishment.

He should have known.

"_It hurts to heal, but it's healing to hurt."_

What had that meant?

Bel had his hands in the waistband of his pants and was pushing them down his hips, dragging his black boxers down with them.

His thoughts were ripped away from matters including mist as his inner thigh was assaulted with vicious bites, his body drawing together painfully tight.

"B-Bel… Muu…"

The blonde rose above him, a trail of blood coming from one corner of his lips. He licked his tongue over his toothy, chilling grin.

"Ushishishishi~ My princess must not be so experienced if he's reacting so strongly already~"

Mammon's point exactly – except he knew he was experienced.

He tried to roll away from Bel, aiming for the side of the bed.

It was definitely time to go.

Bel caught him around the waist and licked a trail up his spine.

His hot breath bathed the back of Mammon's neck and then he felt the blonde bite down with accurate precision over the previous mark.

"Bel!" He flinched at his own voice. What _was_ that tone? That slightly desperate, slightly needy tone that he had never before heard from his own lips?

Had he finally lost his mind?

"If you keep calling my name like that…" Bel sniggered into his ear. "I _might_ forgive you for letting other people touch _my_ baby."

"Go to hell."

"Ushishishishi~ I've already been there; it was boring without my princess."

Bel sat back, dragging him into his lap in the process.

Bel teethed his way down his shoulder.

And it suddenly – _finally_ – occurred to him that… he knew how to fight back against this sort of abuse; he had _trained_ to fight back against this sort of abuse…

So why wasn't Bel a beaten, broken body on the floor yet?

"M-Muu…" Because he couldn't bring himself to lift a hand against the self-proclaimed prince; _that's_ why.

_Damn it_.

"Does my princess like my touches~?"

He'd burn in hell before he would answer that truthfully.

It was the single most painful experience he had dealt with since he had been seven; on top of that, had Bel been a _paying_ customer, the damage costs he would have had to pay would have _skyrocketed_.

And yet it was the greatest pleasure he had ever beheld…

Bel snickered close to his ear and then he felt his beanie being tugged at.

He turned his head just in time for it to fall off, held securely between Bel's teeth.

The blonde's snickers slowly died down and his toothy grin slid into a small frown.

"… What?" He wandered vaguely if there was something on his face. He hadn't really taken the time to check…

After all, it wasn't as if anyone ever saw it.

Bel was the first person in years to see his sterling grey eyes and hat hair.

Bel suddenly leaned closer, the beanie dropping from his mouth as he kissed him deeply.

He feigned disinterest even as his heart thundered painfully in his ears.

When the blonde pulled away, he pushed Mammon back into the bed, sitting back to toss his purple-and-black striped sweater off.

Mammon put a hand to his chest before he could descend towards him again.

"I demand compensation."

Tonight was going to happen; he knew that without a single doubt in his mind. Unless Rasiel decided that _that_ moment would be _the_ perfect moment to ambush his twin, he and Bel would be copulating.

Because Mammon so hated the idea of a therapist, he wasn't going to bother calling it rape.

Or so that was the reason he told himself… He refused to believe that he was _actually_ willing.

Bel cocked his head, the toothy grin returning with high voltage power. "Ushishishi~ my princess thinks he can demand something of me~?"

Disregarding the 'princess' part… "Yes, I do." He let his hand feather up Bel's frame to his thick bangs.

Just like he had hidden his eyes for as long as he could remember, Bel's bangs had always hidden his own as well.

The self-proclaimed prince instantly caught on to what he was doing. He didn't pull away, his grin instead slipping almost uncertainly away.

_Almost_, but not quite. Bel continued to hold that certain air of arrogance around him like a furred cape.

Parting the overhanging bangs, he saw… Crystalline white orbs each surrounded by a black ring.

He would be honest with himself this time around – he had expected scarlet eyes, or maybe blue.

He peered closer at the orbs, trying to decipher if they could actually _see_. His pupils looked healthy, so maybe…

Bel's lips turned frighteningly up. "Ushishishi~ does the princess like what he sees?"

Yes.

"No." He let go of the bangs, letting them flutter back into place.

"Ouch, baby~"

He laid himself limply on the bed, casting his arms over his head as he peered unenthusiastically to the side. There was a film of red over his cheeks. "Are you going to punish me for selling my body to other men or are you just going to stare at me?"

What a subtle way to say 'go on and fuck me'.

By morning, he was deliciously sore and thoroughly used.

Where there wasn't a bite mark on his body, there was a bruise; where there was neither, the lingering sensation of pleasurable tingling remained.

Bel was asleep, snoring peacefully with one arm thrown over the spot Mammon had occupied not a minute ago.

The self-proclaimed prince had kept him up for another two hours before their lust had been assuaged.

That morning had been his first three ever orgasms. Just thinking about it almost made him want to taunt Bel again and urge them onwards.

_Almost_ was the key word; as it turned out, reminding Bel that he wasn't a virgin hadn't been a good idea in the _least_.

He looked down at his bruised wrists, angry red horizontal marks going lightly over the veins.

He felt strangely appeased for having been tortured last night… Did that make him a lover of S&M?

He thought back on his clients; well, the best he had ever felt with them was when they had been in a rush and therefore not so gentle. So perhaps he was masochistic… That, or the chemistry between him and Bel was more than explosive – it was _apocalyptic_.

He didn't feel the least bit bothered by Bel's blood fetish. After all, he had been through worse. What were a few cuts to him?

It wasn't like he would have to pay for a hospital visit.

He looked back at Bel, standing next to the window without a thread of clothing on; Bel had seen and touched every inch of him – what was modesty now but a lost cause?

Hell, he didn't even have any clothes to change into anyway – not unless he stole Bel's.

Bel shifted in the bed, that uneven 'sisisisisi…' slipping from between his bruised lips.

There was the smallest red stain at the corner of his mouth.

He turned his head back to the window.

Down below in the morning's cool mist, the woman was looking uncertainly up at him, most likely trying to decipher if she had made the right choice or not.

Mammon couldn't blame her; he would have second doubts too if he saw a boy covered in bruises and scars.

But then she smiled.

Those damnable words came back to him as if whispered in his ear.

"_It hurts to heal, but it's healing to hurt."_

Her smile grew.

"_Do you understand what I mean now?"_

Her eyes travelled his body tellingly.

He looked back to Bel.

His body was deliciously sore, wonderfully abused, and beautifully scarred…

He must have lost his mind because none of those words should have fit so perfectly together.

He gazed down at her. So she had _literally_ meant that it would hurt to heal?

His body had come alive earlier; it had stopped being an object. It had, instead, become a living, breathing, _needy_ part of him – so, in a sense, he had healed.

And it had hurt like hell to do so.

The mist fogged up the window he was gazing out of at an alarming rate, forming words as if someone was tracing their finger through the condensation.

'_Would you like to come live with our earthbound family?'_

He frowned.

He looked back at Bel and then at the message that didn't fade.

An earthbound family? So he _had_ lost his mind.

The words cleared away and were replaced by more.

'_If you ever want help or want to be among those like you – those who aren't afraid of us and who are gifted – please come to this address.'_

He read the address and phone number placed beneath the window message.

Wasn't that a place in Japan? He was all the way in _Italy_. Going to Japan would be a waste of his money…

…

…

_Unless_… it was a waste of _Bel's_ money. After all, the prince _had _declared him his princess… and a prince _had_ to spoil his lover, didn't he?

One day, Mammon concluded as he committed the address to memory and slid back into bed where Bel immediately enveloped him in his embrace once more – still deep in slumber – he would have to visit the odd people who could accept people like the one who had led him to his doom and salvation only about seven hours ago.

And he would have to ask them how they afforded the therapy to go with that mythical company.

* * *

Author's Note: Around the time I started Mammon's story, I was struck with the intense _want_ for the Bel-Mammon pairing. Sadly, there doesn't seem to be that much out there… Apparently, all the rage seems to be about Bel and Fran (_damn it_!), and so I am left out in the cold…

So, yes, I had to create some Bel-Mammon love in this chapter.

Mammon was saved by Chrome… who incidentally turned into Mukuro. Who then turned back into Chrome. They're essentially one element – and so they basically have one body.

Please tell me if the characters were in character or not! Please be honest!


	7. Lesson Most Likely Learned: Skull

"YOU OLD FUCK!" Skull was again chased out of his own home by raining glass shards. "YEAH, NOW YOU CAN GET YOUR OWN DRUGS!" He screamed at the twiggy man within with bloodshot eyes and rotting teeth.

The man scowled. "What was that, punk?" He stood to his full heath, closing in on 6 foot 5".

He had no flesh to his bones and more resembled a zombie with his unhealthy complexion and appearance; his glare was dulled by years of drug abuse and his scowl looked more like a grimace of pain.

Nonetheless, Skull was intimidated. "Nothing!" He waved his hands defensively before him. "The corner, right? That's where he should be?" He ran before the man could say (or do) anything.

He didn't stop running until he was a half-mile away. He slowed to a walk and stuffed his hands in the pockets of his purple and black jumpsuit. He snorted to himself, taking on the façade of complete and utter control over the situation.

"What a fucking loser dad." Skull muttered to himself in a whisper.

Nervously, he looked behind himself, half-expecting the man to come chasing him down for the insult.

No creature of skin and bones came barreling towards him, so he relaxed. "He's a fuckin' R-tard. What a waste of space!" He cast another uneasy glance back.

Still no one.

He started warming up to the insults. "Yeah, I could take him on if I _wanted_ to! The old fuck's lucky I don't feel like fighting him!" A cocky grin split his purple-painted lips. "He's just a bug~ I could squish him in a sec!"

Thunder growled above him.

A raindrop splattered on his nose.

"Gah!" He put his hands over his spiky mop of purple hair, scowling as the light shower came down on him.

He looked up with vengeance warring in his glare at the heavy, dark clouds above.

He wasn't done with his tirade.

"Stupid clouds! What, you have something against me?" He snarled. "Yeah, if you came down here, I'd show _you_ what happens to people who try to top me!" He pointed a demeaning finger upwards.

A couple walking at the opposite side of the street seemed to be torn between staring at him as if he was pitifully insane or just idiotic.

"You're lucky you're all the way up _there_! If you were down _here_, I'd kick your puffy ass back to the sky!"

The rain was falling down a little harder, coming at him from the back. The pressure was enough that he stumbled forward.

The thunder was getting extremely loud, almost blocking his words from being head even as they were said.

A flash of lightening nearly blinded him.

"Gah! Yeah, yeah! That's _all_ you can do, ain't it, you stupid clouds! All you can do is cry and scream like a little baby!" He sniggered to himself.

His purple makeup was making tiny streams down his face. "Stupid clouds! You're smearing my makeup!"

He rubbed his wet sleeve furiously over his face.

Abruptly, the rain and thunder stopped.

He could hear the _click-clack_ of heels against the sidewalk.

"_Human_…"

Startled, he took his sleeve away from his gaze. He choked on a scream.

There was a man in front of him with a spiky head of jet-black hair, alabaster skin, and slate-blue eyes. His pale lips were turned down into a severe scowl and his hands were clenched around purple-colored tonfas that seemed to give off their own haze of some sort.

He wore a crisp black suit over a purple dress shirt and business shoes, his attire completely dry despite the sudden shower.

He looked _pissed_.

"W-what?" Skull jerked back a few steps from the man. "Who the hell are you?"

A vicious smirk came over the man's lips. "You know who I am. After all, you _were_ just inviting me to come down, weren't you?" He held the tonfas before him, feet sliding into an offense position. "Prepare to die."

Skull was going over a mental list of everyone he had insulted lately (a _very long_ list, by the way), even as he released a dying scream and ran hastily in the opposite direction.

He turned a corner and the man was there, waiting for him while nonchalantly leaning against a brick building. "What happened to 'kicking my puffy ass back to the sky'?"

Skull mentally died in that moment.

It _wasn't_ possible… It _couldn't_ be possible… The man was screwing around with him… _Definitely_.

"Y-you must have misheard me, u-uum, _sir_! I was – uuhh... I wasn't talking to _you_… I was…"

He just couldn't figure out the right way to say he had been cussing out the clouds for raining on him without sounding crazy.

"Oh, no… You were addressing me." The man took slow, calculated steps towards him. "You're going to die now." He stated in a low, dangerously icy tone.

Skull's knees knocked insistently against each other as he backed slowly away.

_What the fuck was this?_

"Hah hah… F-funny joke, dude… I mean, 'cause I _wasn't_ talking to you… You're just _really_ confused, so I'm gonna go _that_ way now!" He fled the scene as quickly as he could.

He shot down an alleyway, hoping to hide there.

The strange and intimidating man was already there, waiting for him.

The purple tonfas were missing; instead, he swung purple handcuffs from one finger, his steely eyes on Skull.

"WAAAAAH!" He ran off again.

… And again…

…. And again…

He eventually collapsed on the sidewalk, too exhausted to keep running.

Where he had set off close to afternoon, it was now closing in on twilight. He gasped for breath, his arms and legs like Jell-O. Sweat had made his jumpsuit sticky, the fabric clinging to his frame.

The man was in front of him, lazily swinging handcuffs around that one damnable finger.

"Y-you're…" He paused to pant. "Not human… man!" His forehead shakily touched the ground as his body gave out on him completely.

"Of course not." The man scoffed. "Who would want to be associated with filthy, greedy earthlings like you?"

He took the last two steps separating them and lifted Skull clear off his feet. "Now you are going to die."

Skull whimpered. "C-c'mon, dude! ... I _told_ you, I wasn't… wasn't talking about… you!" Something trickled down his inner thigh.

"Oh, but you were." The man lifted the handcuffs in his other hand.

Aw, fuck… He was going to get his head bashed in by handcuffs!

He clenched his jaw tightly and shut his eyes, awaiting a painful death with only one reluctant sob.

Nothing happened.

"Hibari…" A kind, warm voice breathed with slight exasperation. "Please put the poor boy down."

He slid one eye partially open to see what was happening.

There was a slim man with bronze hair and large caramel eyes with his hand around the man's offending wrist, his gaze directed at the raven-haired man.

Slate-blue eyes were narrowed threateningly on the slight man, but his grip relaxed and Skull slid to the ground.

The slim man smiled gently. He released the offender's wrist and both of his hands whispered up to the dangerous man's face, cupping his cheeks in a careful grasp.

"That wasn't so hard, was it? When Lambo and Yamamoto told me that you were going to kill a human, I didn't think I was going to make it in time…"

The man – the one Skull was coming to think was 'Hibari' – appeared offended and yet strangely content at the same time.

"I'm happy that he's not seriously harmed." The slim man went on to say with a heart-quivering smile.

His fingers threaded into Hibari's hair, petting the strands.

Hibari snorted. "He kept running – I thought it would be amusing to chase him and make him feel what _real_ fear was."

"Liar." The brunette chuckled. "You just like the hunt."

He felt his face pale by three shades as Hibari smirked.

"Are you calm now?"

Hibari's smirk turned into a considering frown. After a moment, he nodded. "It's because you cheat." He muttered.

The brunette smiled. "I don't cheat – I just happen to have a calming affect over you."

Now that Skull was terrified out of his mind (and he had identified the warm, sticky wetness down his inner thighs), something _clicked_… in the worst way possible.

"Holy shit!" He barked. "You're both _fags_!"

Whatever 'calming affect' the two had just been discussing…

Skull failed to see it.

~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~

"You are lucky to be moving in now…" The Chinese kid – _Fon_ – told him, carrying three large boxes that should have made any normal person stumble and waver uncertainly and yet he walked with elegance unheard of. "Colonello and Reborn became sick with being bunkmates some weeks ago – so they tore down the wall separating us from our neighbors and now we have four more rooms instead of the original duplex."

He dumped the boxes in the middle of the floor of Skull's new room.

"Now everyone has their own space." He slid his hands into his opposing sleeves, sighing. "Ah, but I almost miss having a roommate…"

Skull – a broken, bruised mass with one arm in a cast, four recently broken ribs in the process of healing, a sprained ankle, a twisted knee, one swollen-shut eye, three missing teeth (none of them, luckily, visible), and an ear infection – stared at Fon as if he was the devil reincarnated.

He did _not_ remember agreeing to _any_ of this!

Fon smiled angelically at him and patted his shoulder, ignoring his wince as he did so. "Welcome to our earthbound family, Skull. I hope you have learned your lesson about insulting Hibari."

* * *

Author's Note: Did I just imply 1827? Yes… Yes I did. …

Skull is among my least favorite characters, so I did him last. Ah, but it makes me happy to know that he got the shit kicked out of him… And he never did get those drugs for his dad. Ah, but it's not funny to make light of that – after all, drug abuse is _not_ a joke and nor should it be forced on anyone…

I just seriously don't like Skull.

Good news! I won't be ending the series here. I hope to incorporate some family moments and shed some light on the elements.


	8. And Over Time: Reborn

He remembered his eleventh birthday with perfect clarity, every scent, sound, sight, and touch enhanced in his photographic memory above all other memories.

For his eleventh birthday, he had surpassed the greatest hitman in the world… and had, in his victory, murdered the man.

He had stared into those obsidian eyes so like his own – and, yet, in that moment, they were completely different: in their depths had been revealed… intense pride.

Reborn had felt nothing as his father had died by his hand; watching as the elder man succumbed to oblivion, his pale lips twisted slightly in a smirk that had said 'You _will_ succeed in my place', his thoughts had already been elsewhere.

His thoughts had been on the man he had obsessed over for the past six years.

And his father, with his last dying breath, knew it. He knew that Reborn wasn't thinking of him, that Reborn would not shed a tear for him nor suffer a nightmare over his murder.

And, perhaps, that made him even prouder, Reborn supposed.

After all, this was only tradition – to become the greatest hitman, you had to overcome the former greatest hitman; his father had raised him knowing that, chances were, he would kill him.

Just as his father had killed his own father, as his father had killed his own mother, as her mother had killed her own father, and so on so forth to the beginning of the mercenary bloodline.

It was an inescapable tradition passed down from generation to generation: to die at the hands of your child.

Reborn hadn't minded it, though; what emotions could he feel for his father but _nothing_? Perhaps, at one time, he had felt respect. Maybe, in the very beginning, in that first moment of life, he had felt fear.

With his father's blood splattered on his hands and his first kill not even bothering to fight to live, he had felt nothing.

He had felt nothing because he hadn't cared to reminisce on his father's 'training' or 'tutoring' or 'preparations' – all code words for cruelty, neglect, and humiliation.

In that moment, his mind had focused on those kind, warm emerald green eyes that had once gazed at him with humor; he remembered those gentle and yet strong hands holding him and he remembered that low, rumbling voice speaking to him.

When his father had died – truly died with his heart no longer beating and his breathing ceased, his eyes dull and empty as they stared listlessly at him and his lips parted slightly – he had went through the process of disposing of the body…

Just like his father had taught him.

Five hours later – because no job was well-done unless you took your time with it – he had been walking away from his house; not his home, never his home, but simply a majestic structure that had stored his belongings, sustenance, and himself upon most occasions.

And that house had been burning to the ground, billowing dark gray smoke to the cloudy night sky as charred timber fell and crashed to the ground, the shelter giving its dying groan before it caved inward.

As far as any investigator had been concerned, an outlet had caught fire. His father had been the poor victim of the mess, seemingly having been struck by shattering grass and killed on the spot.

And he, Reborn, had been long gone. The investigators had found an unidentifiable body of a child around eleven years old placed strategically on Reborn's bed.

In actuality, the child had been a coma patient, destined to never wake up. And so, Reborn almost felt he had done the child a favor.

What was life when there was no life?

Seven miles from his home, the storm had begun.

The rain had descended in heavy torrents that tore at his clothes, the growl of thunder off in the distance. The clouds had been thick and malicious-looking, tinted almost purple for one reason or another.

He had paused and watched as a thunderbolt stretched for the ground, a further off flash of light.

Smirking, he had raised his hands… and had clapped.

For the first time in six years, he had looked upon his goal – and he had been his goal, for that aura of unbeatable power and endless patients tempted Reborn such as a whore would tempt a horny teenager – and he had felt almost… no, not relieved nor excited. He had not felt happy nor angry nor sad nor frustrated…

Perhaps, if there was no other word for it, he had felt _content_.

Lambo had sighed softly, looking at him as an exasperated parent would look at their child. "That was quite a mess you made back there." He had murmured in that attention-grabbing voice.

Reborn's smirk had grown.

Lambo had rested a hand on his head – back then, he had had no fedora – and had petted the springy spikes; Reborn's smirk had died at the unusual comforting touch, uncertain how to take it unless with violence.

Lambo had smiled gently. "I suppose – as long as you promise not to hurt Aria or Nana – you can live with us…"

He had been unsure what to do with the offer; he had actually wanted to fight.

He had wanted to prove that he was stronger.

And yet he had been offered a home instead…

He was officially the greatest hitman in the world; they didn't have to offer him a home – he had thought he would find his own.

So he had surprised himself when he had found himself considering the offer.

He had been tired, bloody, and hurt. After all, his father hadn't simply lied there and let him kill him – he had had to work for it.

In hindsight, perhaps he hadn't wanted to fight… not _yet_ at least – after all, he was smarter than charging into war after a crippling battle.

He had nodded; he had thought to heal… and _then_ fight.

Lambo had chuckled and leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to the slight cut at his hairline.

"You plan to kill me one day, don't you?" He had murmured, still petting Reborn's hair.

"Of course." He had thought nothing of telling the truth.

Instead of expressing fear, anger, or anxiety, Lambo had laughed – as if he had been amused. "I see… then I guess I need to squeeze into your human heart quick so you can't bring yourself to leave me a carcass on the ground."

Reborn had scoffed. His heart was merely a beating, life-giving organ in his body. His heart expressed no emotion.

Lambo had taken off his buckskin coat and had wrapped it around him, ignoring his glare as he had done so.

"Are you ready to leave?"

Reborn had not even bothered to look back. "I was never ready to stay."

Reborn remembered that fateful day with almost melancholy irony.

He was fifteen years old now, a five year old Aria sitting on his lap as she recited the alphabet backwards.

Across from him was Fon, the Chinese-delinquent-turned-Chinese-genius-and-sweetheart. The peaceful, young man was, again, studying.

After all, as Fon would usually put it: _"My mistress has high expectations of me, and I have high expectations of me. Even if I were to learn everything, I would soon have everything else to learn."_

And so the slightly younger teen would always have his head in a book or his eyes on a real-life situation.

In the living room, Colonello and Skull were howling and screaming over a historical Samurai film – Colonello howling for more action and Skull screaming that it was _lame_.

Verde was up in his room, conducting a foul-smelling experiment – how did Reborn know?

He could _smell_ it; the fact that no one else reacted to it was a miracle.

And Mammon – the unofficial sixth member of their 'earthbound' (more like completely insane and doomed to perish) family, was in Italy still.

It was odd… He had gone from one father whose only touch upon him was harmful… to a _huge_ family where everyone looked out for each other…

Or – he amended his thought as Colonello finally drove his patients to an end with his insistent call for more bloodshed and he threw his coffee mug with precise aim at the blonde's head, the cup shattering against his thick skull – tried to kill each other…

In ways his father had never thought of teaching him.

Aria, Fon, Colonello, Skull, Verde, and Mammon… as much as he hated to admit it, they were his… siblings, per say.

Tsuna, Gokudera, Yamamoto, Hibari, Ryohei, Mukuro, Chrome, and Nana… they were the uncles and aunts he had never wished for, didn't care to have, and yet somehow felt content with.

And Lambo…

Thinking of the thunder element made him look out the small window above the kitchen sink to the cloud sky above where the lightening struck close the ground.

Lambo was… and he smirked while thinking it, a cold, hard grin that made Aria pause and frown up at him… his reasoning.

Lambo was his reasoning to be _who_ he was… The greatest hitman in the world… _with a heart_.

And as much as he hated the damnable organ that apparently _could_ express emotion, he gazed out upon his family (Colonello was complaining in the background about how Reborn was an ass, a bastard, a man-whore, and every other bad thing in the world while Skull fainted at the sight of his blood, the cuts in the back of his head seeping red over his blonde hair) and knew it to be the painful truth.

A mercenary with morals…

He blamed Lambo – that horribly, selfishly, selfless man – for it.

* * *

Author's Note: Was anyone wondering how Reborn came to be a part of the earthbound family? We all know how he and Lambo met, but did anyone wonder how he ended up actually getting associated with him? If you had, fear not! For you do not have to wonder any longer!

Aaaah… I'm not sure how I feel about this chapter; I like it and yet I don't… Speak to me, my pretties!


	9. Wet Stone: Colonello

"Hey, you're a great guy for coming this far with me." Colonello threw an icy blue glance at the man who followed at his side. "But I'd rather do this alone."

It was raining buckets; the constant splash of water against the floor was muffled by the soggy ground. The sky above was heavy and foreboding and the air itself was painted gray with the never ending rainfall.

His companion smiled carelessly back at him, bleach white teeth contrasting sharply with his dark apricot skin, and his chocolate brown orbs twinkling humorously. "Is that so?" He didn't seem to take offense.

"Yeah." Colonello ran a hand through his soaked golden locks. "And it might stop raining if you're not standing next to me."

"Hah hah! My bad; sometimes I forget that the storm just follows me around!"

There was an enraged growl from the sky, the clouds churning decisively until it almost appeared as if a tornado was in the making. There was no thunder and the clouds themselves were storm clouds – somehow unrelated to the actual element.

His companion looked up. "Don't get angry, Gokudera!" He wagged a finger. "You know it's true~"

That only seemed to make the storm more furious.

Colonello sighed. "Hey, I'd like to do this in peace. If you wanna argue with him, can you go somewhere else?"

"Hm?" Brown orbs focused on him again. "Sorry, sorry, I'll keep quiet now."

Whether or not the story agreed to the sudden silent treatment, his companion fell unusually quiet, his face falling into morose.

Just like that, they stood there in the flooded field, rain pouring down their lean figures.

"… Hey… does heaven really exist?" Colonello looked back to the man.

The man looked back at him. "Hhmm… I don't know. I've never seen it."

Colonello snorted and looked away. "Than it can't exist."

"Why do you say that, Colonello?" His partner pestered.

"If the elements have never seen it, than how can it exist?" He barked.

"Easy!"

Colonello was startled enough to look back at the man.

Grinning, the adult poked his forehead with his fingertip. "I don't think heaven's a place in the sky – don't get me wrong, Tsuna's great and all – but I think heaven's just the feeling you get when you know happiness is guaranteed."

The blonde's features scrunched up. "Hey, how can the dead get a _feeling_?"

"I don't know; but it's better than thinking that a ghost can get sucked into an airplane's engine just for sitting on the wrong cloud."

There was a small silence.

Both males chuckles, the blonde reluctantly while the older smiled warmly.

The chuckles choked to silence.

"… No matter what heaven is, I think she's there." The rain element hummed.

"… Hey… I think you might be right, Yamamoto…" Colonello looked to the soaked bouquet he held in one hand and then back down to the tombstone before him. "She deserves heaven."

He kneeled down in the mud and settled the roses on the grave.

"She'd hate me for this." He admitted gravelly. "She hated cliché things like chocolates, diamonds, and roses; hey, if it didn't have a practical use, she didn't want it."

Yamamoto clapped a hand on his shoulder. "I bet she secretly loved it, though."

"… Hey… Just maybe…"

"… Are you ready to go home now?"

"… Hey, just a while longer."

"Okay… Then I guess I'll leave you here, hm? I'll see you back in Japan." Yamamoto moved to walk away.

Colonello's fist clenched on the back of his coat stopped him.

"Hey, you can stay here if you want."

Yamamoto blinked back at him and then he smiled. "Hah hah, well, I'm in no hurry…" The storm boiling above roared as if in disagreement. "Let's just stand here a little longer."

* * *

Author's Note: A terrible ending, I know… and an awfully short chapter, too. Bear with me, please.

Alright, so I was a little miffed that I never actually introduced Yamamoto… and I wanted to see Colonello again. That is what this chapter is about. A little hurt/comfort. And, yes, the storm was indeed Gokudera being pissy.


	10. Son to a Mother: Fon

They stood on the roof of their home, both of their gazes turned towards the direction the clouds were rolling in; the sky was a frightening bruise of purple, black, and – if one could see through the storm – blue.

Lightening tore through the sky and thunder groaned its mighty roar; and yet the night was dry.

Yamamoto, apparently, was a little behind schedule. And, judging by how the storm raged and how its rage seemed to grow, Gokudera was very displeased.

The personifications of storm and thunder were located in the house they sat upon, Gokudera most likely glaring out the window as he waited for the rain's appearance and Lambo probably occupying Reborn's bedroom, laughing off the young hitman's glare.

That, or he was subtly trying to escape Verde's obsessed attempts to research and/or dissect him.

The woman and teenage male atop the house continued their prolonged staring, completely at peace with themselves and the world around them. They wore matching outfits, complete with long-sleeved red tunics, white Hanfu slacks, and black slippers.

Even in appearance, the two were alike; both had apricot skin and amber (nearly black) eyes, raven-wing black hair stretching down theirs backs – though the boy had his contained in a tidy braid inching between his shoulder blades while the woman's remained unbridled and yet smooth to the small of her back. Tranquility and harmony were reflected in both gazes.

"I am… sanguine…" The woman softly disrupted the silence.

The boy looked to her, feeling that that was not all she wished to say.

"I am remembering happy memories."

"Aaah…" The teen smiled warmly. "May I ask what memories you are remembering, mistress?"

There was a pause. "Bringing you home." She smiled softly, eyes sliding shut. "That was a very happy day."

He flushed, even as he smiled just as softly as she. "I believe so, too."

He remembered that day with clarity; it hadn't begun so extravagant, actually. It had begun with pain and anger.

A gang, who had felt snubbed by his change of attitude, had cornered him. Of course, since he refused to fight because he hadn't wanted his mistress to see him bully a bunch of thugs, he had been beaten and left bleeding. That had been only two weeks after meeting his mistress.

He had been lying there, certain he was going to die… and he had felt at peace. He had felt that it was worth it, all because he had gotten to meet his mistress at least once.

Strangely enough, a golden man had appeared from nowhere, gunmetal grey eyes glinting in a way that had made him believe the man was going to kill him. Instead, he had healed him and in the next moment, he had been in a home with a child and another teenager as well as an oblivious caretaker.

He would later learn that the 'golden man' was really Ryohei – the personification of the sun. And that Ryohei and his mistress were close friends who often liked to spar together. Of course, Ryohei had been unable to ignore his pain.

"I am happy that we can be like this now," she hummed. When serpentine movements, she slid closer to him. Under his awed gaze, she reached out and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, bringing his head to the cradle of her shoulder.

"Mistress?"

"Would you be my son?"

He gaped, lights and fireworks exploding behind his eyes as he heard beautiful, beautiful words that could not be true. "Mistress?" He whispered, hardly able to believe.

"I know, it is strange to take such a dominant role in the life of a child…" She even seemed a bit perturbed by it. "You see, it is usually the _males_ that raise the offspring… I suppose, though, seeing as I am the last of my kind, that I can swish up a bit my role."

"Switch," he mumbled distractedly. His mistress did that sometimes, confusing words and sayings. But, for the moment, he could hardly even care.

His ethereal dragon mistress wanted him as a son.

In the house below, Aria was heard laughing at Skull's expense as the purple-haired teen failed at his video game. Colonello invaded Reborn's room and could be heard talking to Lambo while _completely_ ignoring the trained hitman.

He bowed his head, dark eyes glistening. "I would be _honored_ to be your son, Mistress…" he rethought that, "_mother_."

She rested her head atop his and nuzzled him closer to her body which was strangely and yet not curiously hard, warmth coming off of her in proverbial waves. "Son," she tested the word out gently, hesitantly, and then smiled into his hair. "My son."

He let himself relax because this was – this was like a fairytale to him, the one where everyone lives happily ever after which never could have happened where he had once been. It's the one focused all around family instead of romance, but he liked it that way.

He loved it; his family of Elements, rejects, orphans, and fighters. And his dragon mother.

Suddenly, his life was _perfect_.

* * *

Author's Note: Goodness, it's been a very long time since I last updated this story, hasn't it? Sorry for that; I tried to get back to this story, but it was writer's block for this plot. And then, today, I sat down and I finished it! Though, maybe, not as well as I had originally wanted… Touching nonetheless, isn't it?


	11. Reunion Finale: Everyone

To be 25 years old was to be 15 plus 10. That was to say, it wasn't all that exciting, not like adults would like others to believe.

Reborn stared into his drink, back straight as he sat at the bar. There was a table behind him and somewhat to his left that housed three women clucking and moaning about how handsome he was, daring each other to approach him. How annoying!

Down the bar a ways were five men who were badmouthing him, apparently believing themselves all high and mighty as they ranted about how they beat his _ass_ black and blue. Because, seemingly, the three women at the table were _their_ women – as if they owned them in some way.

Reborn lifted the glass to his lips, aggravated and yet tickled at the same time at the concept of _owning_ someone.

As the men were egging each other on, fist pumps and alcohol all around, the Dutch door opened soundlessly to emit three very familiar men. Reborn smirked to realize them, displeased and pleased at the same time to have their company.

His friends, brothers really, heading straight for him with various expressions; Verde looked disgusted by his surroundings, Fon had his arms folded into the sleeves of his tunic, face tranquil, and Colonello couldn't have looked more unbothered, as if he was stepping into his home instead of a canteen.

The men who had been buffing themselves up took no notice of the new arrivals, strutting their way towards Reborn as if they owned the damn floor and him with it. One shoved right into Verde, who stumbled and narrowed his sickly green eyes on the fellow with growing dislike. The same asshole tried to do the same thing with Fon, failing as the Chinese man sidestepped him.

That was the only asshole who paused to notice that Reborn was unofficially getting backup. And he was the only asshole smart enough to ditch his pack and retreat out the Dutch doors.

Reborn almost scowled at that; he could have taken them all down easily, no reinforcements required. But, perhaps, people needed to be outnumbered to realize that they were the lesser of two strengths. Which was a lot of _bullshit_.

The last four men didn't have enough time to call the bartender (who was coincidentally getting more bourbon from the basement) for help.

By the time the old man came back with a huge box in shaking arms, the five men plus their three women had abandoned the bar, four of the men beaten and bloody while the women tried to stay behind for the four 'heroes' that was now Reborn's dubbed group and were then forced out by the injured males, as if they needed their pride as sperm donors ruined as well.

To have women mistreated in such a way had actually boiled all their nerves, but at least the women had left with the roll of their eyes, as if they _knew_ they were following sissies. That meant they had _some_ power, even if they were beyond saving.

Fon was kind enough to offer the bartender a hand, smiling softly. Verde took a large handkerchief from his pocket and placed it gingerly down on the stool before taking a seat, a grimace on his lips. Colonello, in all his finesse, sprawled across both his stool and the pale polished bar surface.

"Hey, when does the rest of the gang get here."

Reborn ordered another glass from the old man. "The storm will be rolling in about another few minutes and Viper's plane should have gotten here a half hour ago. Skull's jet is supposed to land in another 15 minutes and Tsuna is bringing Aria as the 'adult supervision'."

"Mother will be coming with Lambo," Fon chimed.

At the mention of the personification of the thunder and lightning, Verde leered lewdly into his reflection on the bar. So many years later and he had yet to succeed in his dream of dissecting the element, though it was not for lack of trying. So many years later and he just would _not_ give it up.

Reborn's glare stopped the green-haired man short, nonetheless, the bespectacled man shifted uncertainly in his seat as the hitman's black eyes bore into his very _mind_ and reminded him that there _was_ a boogeyman in the world.

Colonello and Fon both chuckled at the hint of protectiveness Reborn was showing, something he hid usually very well and yet would sometimes rear its amusing head whenever he felt his guardian was in danger. It was almost pathetic because the hitman obviously despised this little quirk of his, most of the time coming up with a dozen or so reasons why it was _not_ concern for Lambo and instead everything _around_ him.

Both Colonello, Fon, and Verde had agreed that their most favorite excuse was 'I _like_ thunder storms', as if to point out that it wasn't necessarily the _personification_ he was trying to protect, but everything he represented.

Verde wasn't laughing at the moment, trying oh so subtly to edge into the next stool down and from there continuing his way to the far side of the counter. _Away_ from the still glaring Reborn whose predatory stillness could have made anyone jumpy. Except, of course, for Fon and Colonello who _were_ laughing.

Even when Reborn's glare spun on them, they were still caught up in mirth.

They had an idea of how lucky they were when, in the second Reborn's weight shifted towards them, body tensing like a beast about to pounce, the sound of rumbling thunder and the pinging of rain was heard from outside the tavern.

With great bravado, the door was slammed open and a loud 'I WAS EXTREMELY WAITING FOR THE REST OF THE GANG' echoed throughout the small establishment. Following the Sun was the Rain and Storm, both thoroughly soaked while the silverette looked none too pleased and the other quite happy.

Yamamoto waved to them. "Hah hah! Nice to see you all again! When was the last time we met up like this, hhmm?"

Fon and Colonello offered their own greetings in their own ways while Verde and Reborn waited, not really caring.

Gokudera, the personification of the storm with spitfire green eyes, green like those rare clouds before a thunderstorm that reflect the sun's light in the worst possible way, narrowed said gaze on the lonesome mad scientist that had once been a mad science-boy. "What are you doing all the way down here?"

Whatever explanation was offered was lost as a brunette came through the door with the raven-haired cloud at his side, Aria's hand in his as he smiled warmly at all of them.

"TSUNAA," Ryohei greeted _loudly_.

"'S'up?" Yamamoto tried some slang he must have heard somewhere, making most everyone in the bar look at him strangely. He only smiled serenely.

"My sky," Gokudera murmured reverently, ducking his head in respect.

Tsuna only smiled wider and sighed, as if caught in bliss. "It feels nice to be with everyone again."

The cloud personification at his side seemed to not be able to disagree with him enough, sour expression glowering at all of them with his arms crossed over his chest. His slate blue eyes flashed from them to the sky and then away, perhaps coming to the conclusion that there was no escape as long as his lover demanded his presence.

"But I see we have a few people late," Tsuna went on to add, sharp caramel eyes scanning the room. The old man in control of the liquor caught his attention and he slipped into a stool, Aria stealing the one next to his where she asked for a soda, and himself not ordering anything but a delightful chat. Just like that, he pushed his earlier statement out of the air, smiling angelically as he invited everyone still standing to sit down as well.

Hibari, of course, took a faraway table for his own, in the darkest corner available, and glared malevolently at the door as if to make certain that no one else _dared_ to come in.

As if summoned by said glare, the door opened again to welcome two more people.

Fon's smile couldn't have gotten wider as he slid out of his seat and went to the ethereal woman standing in wait for him, her smile matching his as she opened her arms and let him into her embrace.

The man at her side looked at Reborn with warm eyes, striding up to take the seat Fon had abandoned.

Reborn, for his part, pretended not to notice. Verde, pouting, couldn't help but glower.

Fon and I-Pin went to a separate table, sitting on the same bench with Fon's head tucked against I-Pin's shoulder as they spoke lowly in Chinese and spoke of their adventures the past two weeks apart.

They had been meeting up regularly, their bond of mother and son never letting them part for too long. The rest of them, however, had not met face-to-face in nearly two _years_.

"How have you been, Reborn?" Lambo murmured.

Reborn glared at him, as if the hell in his eyes would in some way force the other to leave him be. Which, of course, didn't work; like always.

"I see, so you've been doing well," the thunder narrated. "Ah, but I've missed that glare of yours; you see, people do not seem to enjoy my company as much as you pretend not to. I can always tell by the way they look at me. You know, I had my feelings hurt some days ago; there I was, doing what I was born to do, and there was an old grumpy man on his porch, looking up at me as if I was at fault of something, and he said 'Thunder, thunder, die today – leave me be' – I thought that rhyme was meant for the rain, but apparently not…"

Reborn's glare had intensified at Lambo's ranting. Especially at that part 'pretending'. But he listened, sadly because he couldn't think of what other choices he had.

The Dutch doors parted again, a woman wearing a black bell cap with a pompom on top resembling a toad and a matching black cloak that fell to her mid calves, a design like a yellow snake biting down on its tail going around the torso of the fabric. At her side was a blonde wearing black leather pants with a purple-and-black striped sleeved shirt, a strange little crown atop his head. And, behind them, was another small woman with purple hairs and a violet eye, as if she had _seen things_ in her lifetime that would make others lose their minds. The last woman wore a pure white crochet dress that ended just above her knees, her hair loose around her shoulders. Over one eye was an eye patch decorated with an engraved skull.

They were all welcomed happily by Tsuna. When he tried to hug Viper, the girl with the demented sense of dressing, however, the blonde pulled her tight to his side and offered a bloodthirsty smirk that just _dared_ the sky to make a move. Because, obviously, he was insane.

Thus, Bel, Mammon, and Chrome were welcomed into the reuninon.

Lambo, after an initial wave, turned his attention back to Reborn. "Have you killed anyone since the last time I saw you?" He spoke as if it was a casual subject, as if they were discussing the _weather_ for fuck's sake.

Reborn sipped his beverage. "Five men, two women." He had a thing against harming the female race, but these had been the type of women all for equal rights. And not in the best kind of way. Certainly not.

Lambo raised an eyebrow. "How do you feel?"

"How do you _think_ I should feel?"

"Like you killed seven people, for starters."

"Why are you here again?"

"Because I missed you~"

"Because I haven't _killed_ you yet."

"If you discover the way to killing an element, tell me how before you carry through with it, please."

There was silence; not uncomfortable, though. Actually, it was almost soothing, like therapy without words or actions. Reborn finished his drink and didn't bother to ask for a third because he liked having a clear head and he knew he would be getting into a drinking contest with Colonello later, so why lose his mind now?

Lambo eyeballed him. "You've grown even more since the last time I saw you." He sounded almost wistful. "Humans, always growing bigger… I bet you're even taller than me now." He reached out and fisted his hand around Reborn's shoulder, squeezed, and then released. "You might even be broader." He looked nearly sad. "You used to be so cute as a kid."

Reborn's black glare slid threateningly to the other male. "Since _when_ was I a kid?"

"Well you never acted like one, but I vaguely remember a midget version of you trying to kill people about a decade or two ago."

Before Reborn could even _think_ to respond to that, Colonello had bounded up to his side, beer in hand and a competitive light in his icy blue eyes.

As he had predicted, the drinking contest commenced.

* * *

Author's Note: And I end the story here… A rather sour ending, but I thought it was a nice touch to have the whole family together.

As for where Skull is… well, his jet was late. *cough, cough* Hibari had something to do with that.

I LOVE ALL OF YOU!


End file.
